A Master of Two Servants
by FlYiNgPiGlEtS
Summary: Morgana uses the fomorroh to manipulate Arthur into hunting down and killing Emrys. Little do they know the man they are both searching for is much closer than they think … AU of 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.
1. Chapter One

**A Master of Two Servants: **Morgana uses the fomorroh to manipulate Arthur into hunting down and killing Emrys. Little do they know the man they are both searching for is much closer than they think … AU of 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Warnings: **gore and violence. Spoilers up to and for 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Disclaimer: **Merlin is not mine. It belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

A Master of Two Servants

Chapter One

It has been so peaceful – almost _too _peaceful, Arthur would recall later, when the celebratory hunt well and truly went to hell – that he was willing to believe, at first, that Merlin was wrong. His manservant had always been something of a pessimist anyhow, and Arthur was quick to dismiss his 'funny feelings' as foolish superstitions. But a part of him, deep and suppressed and usually ignored, believed him. It seemed, these days, that Merlin was always right.

And that was why, when the mercenaries swept from the trees and trampled down the hills, he was not surprised. He had not expected such a large fight, for such common-looking men. He had not expected them to have well-made weapons and some even thoroughbred horses. He certainly had not expected to be outnumbered to such an extent; but he had been prepared for some kind of disaster – that they would, of course, miraculously escape from unscathed and unaffected, like they always did.

That would not be the case, this time.

Throwing himself almost instantly into the fray, Arthur hadn't spared much of a thought for his own men. They were the best fighters in the land; it should have been easy for them to escape the mercenaries, even when they kept coming in such large numbers. Even Merlin wasn't so useless that he couldn't protect himself. He focused only on fighting, allowing quick glances at the knights when he could afford to.

Soon, they had the upper hand. Some of the mercenaries begun to retreat and those who stayed were cut down easily by the knights or King. The battle was almost won when, over the slamming of swords, Merlin roared his name. Striking down the two men closest to him and thanking whatever force had thrown one of the mounted mercenaries off his stallion, he turned quickly to where Merlin had been, ready to gloat about his victory, but the words caught in his throat.

Merlin lay still on the floor. From where he was standing, Arthur couldn't tell whether he was unconscious, but suspected he was when he caught sight of the man who appeared to have landed a hit on his servant galloping towards him and swinging a bloody mace. The mace was a cruel and sneakily powerful weapon, and Arthur prayed that Merlin was just being a coward, that he had not been injured at all and had instead decided to experiment with the 'play dead' tactic Gwaine was always joking about.

With a cry of both terror and anger, Arthur pulled the man from his horse and threw him to the ground. The mace rolled out of the mercenary's outstretched hand and came to a stop out of his reach. For a moment, Arthur stared at the weapon, at the blood that stained its malicious spikes, and considered using it himself, but that would take longer than a simple sword to the gut and Merlin needed him now.

A quick death was far more than the mercenary deserved, but Arthur delivered it hastily anyway, savoring the brief look of panic and pain that crossed the man's face before he raced towards his fallen friend. The knights gathered around them protectively, fighting the mercenaries back while Arthur kneeled beside Merlin.

Gently and more than a little unsure, Arthur slowly rolled Merlin onto his back to inspect the damage – if there was any damage at all, the denying part of his brain whispered, false hope flooding into his knotted chest when Merlin's eyes fluttered open. But it was short-lived. The king quickly realized that it was only because of his jostling that Merlin had regained consciousness and, upon seeing the pain that clouded those familiar blue irises, Arthur almost wished that he hadn't tried to move his friend.

Arthur placed what he hoped was a reassuring hand on Merlin's shoulder, only for the boy to make a noise that could have been a hiss or a scream and try, feebly, to squirm away. He jerked his hand away and stared wide-eyed at the blood that coated it. A whispered curse and five frantic beats of his heart later, he was by Merlin's side again, pulling his worn jacket away to check the wound. More blood coated his fingertips as he pulled the old garment off, worried by the lack of response from Merlin. He wished Merlin would laugh and make one of his stupid jokes, or call him a prat and a clotpole, but only quiet, barely-aware whimpers broke the unfamiliar silence between them.

Gwaine swore loudly and colorfully when he saw the mace's imprint and Arthur very nearly lost his breakfast again. Four deep puncture wounds dotted Merlin's chest and the skin around them was already purpling, forming a horrible bruise that spanned almost all the way to his right, uninjured shoulder. Blood flowed freely where the mace had broken Merlin's pale skin. Too much of the crimson liquid stained his sodden shirt and Arthur's shaking hands.

"Sire," Leon cried. "There are more!"

Panicked, Arthur looked up briefly from his injured servant and saw that Leon was right. More mercenaries, many of them on horses, were scaling the hills and charging towards them. There were too many. The knights were exhausted. They needed to retreat.

"What now?" Elyan questioned, when Arthur said nothing.

"Split up and head north," Arthur ordered. "We will regroup once we are nearer to Camelot."

"What about Merlin?"

Arthur's attention returned to his servant. The mercenaries had already arrived, the knights having to fight again. Merlin would need Arthur to support him at least, though it was more likely that he would need to be carried. It would slow them down, but he refused to leave Merlin behind. "He's coming with me."

Before anyone protested, Arthur had Merlin's uninjured arm around his shoulders and was already hoisting him off the ground. Merlin cried out, but he was too weak to pull away and, once again drifting out of consciousness, let his head lull limply against Arthur's shoulder. It would be useless to ask him to walk, even with Arthur's support. Without another option, the king lifted him over his shoulders and ran, just as the knights scattered.

* * *

Later, deep within the forest, Arthur laid Merlin against a fallen tree and sat beside his friend. Merlin had regained consciousness at some point, only to fall back into the abyss of dreams moments later, after Arthur had made an arrogant joke about his laziness. Now, Arthur wasn't quite sure if he was awake or not. As much as he wanted to speak with Merlin, Arthur would not have minded if he remained blissfully oblivions until they reached Camelot and Gaius could prescribe him something to take away the pain.

Arthur was lost in thought when, sometime later, Merlin finally stirred. He leapt forwards, almost reaching out for him until he remembered the awful injury that he had yet to tend to. Instead, he kneeled patiently in front of Merlin, until two unfocused eyes found his. A frown wrinkled Merlin's forehead and, confused, his hand went to his chest. Arthur curled his fingers into fists at the quiet groan Merlin let out, eyeing the blood now on his servant's fingers with contempt.

"I need to bandage that, before we move again," Arthur murmured, fearing there were mercenaries still near.

Merlin turned his frown downwards, at his bloody chest. "How bad is it?" he asked eventually, voice quiet and strained.

"Just a scratch," he lied, faking a smile. "A night's rest and you'll be polishing my armor."

"Liar," Merlin mumbled, with a slight chuckle that ended in a flinch.

"Am not."

"I'm a dead man."

"You're not going to die, Merlin," Arthur admonished, taking one of the arms of the padded shirt he wore underneath his armour in his right hand and tearing it before Merlin could protest. "Now let me take a look at that scratch of yours."

Merlin didn't protest as Arthur carefully pressed the torn cloth to the puncture hole nearest to his servant's protruding collarbone. Arthur gently cleaned each of the wounds, noting the redness around them and the growing heat of Merlin's skin worriedly and cursing himself for not tending to the wound earlier. Infection was setting in now. They needed to get back to Camelot as soon as possible.

Throughout the process, Merlin barely protested. Sometimes he watched Arthur, other times his gaze drifted to the trees. Arthur thought, occasionally, that he had passed out again, until something seemed to startle the servant awake once more and he would give the king a sheepish grin, before going back to studying the shrubbery. Only the agony in Merlin's glassy eyes gave him away.

When Arthur had finished, satisfied that he had the bleeding stemmed but concerned there was nothing he could do for the fever that was slowly crawling through Merlin's body, he sat down against the trunk and watched his friend. The careful mask was slipping as Merlin's eyes drooped sleepily, each drowsy flinch mirrored by Arthur's. Merlin didn't hide his pain as much now, as the fever took more of a hold and his exhaustion fought for dominance over his fierce determination to stay awake.

"Rest, Merlin," Arthur said softly, and it was all Merlin needed. The servant's eyes fell closed a second later, body relaxing slightly against the fallen tree. Arthur couldn't quite suppress his relief.

* * *

Arthur didn't sleep. He kept watch, looking out for mercenaries, wondering if he should wake Merlin. It was obvious that Merlin needed the rest, but he needed a proper physician to treat his wound and see to his fever before he succumbed to it. If Arthur carried him again, the pain would surely wake him, so for now they stayed, he decided. They would move in an hour, perhaps, unless Merlin woke before then, although Arthur didn't think he would.

When Merlin did rouse, moving uncomfortably against the tree and scratching slightly at his chest, Arthur knew then was the best time to move. But Merlin didn't open his eyes. Arthur thought he was unconscious again, until Merlin asked, quietly, jokingly,

"If I do die, will you call me a hero?"

Arthur eyed his servant and swallowed the lump in his throat. "Probably."

"But whilst I'm still alive, I'm a coward?"

"That's the way these things work, I'm afraid. You get the glory when you're not around to appreciate it."

"Unless you're the king."

"Come on, it's-"

A twig snapped in the distance. They both feel silent.

Sword in hand, Arthur was on his feet in an instance. His knuckles whitened angrily as he took up a protective stance in front of Merlin. The mercenaries were close again. _Damn them_, Arthur thought as he eyed the eerie shadows beneath the canopy of trees.

"Arthur," Merlin hissed behind him, eyes now wide open.

Arthur held his hand up to silence Merlin, shooting an angry look in his direction and momentarily forgetting the state his friend was in. Merlin ignored him, like usual, and said urgently, "It's not the mercenaries, Arthur."

"_What _are-?"

A dark chuckle sounded from the growing darkness. It was answer enough.

"Show yourself!" Arthur yelled.

The laugh came again, cruel and cold.

"_Show yourself!_"

Suddenly, before Arthur had even blinked, Morgana was standing only meters away from them. Arthur had not seen her since the siege, only heard of her brief, fleeting appearances within his kingdom. They were silent threats and portents of what she was planning, of what Camelot would suffer through next. She had not shown her face, but he knew she had been behind those evils.

Arthur had pictured the Morgana he knew during their hardships, remembered the girl once so full of compassion and love and _good_, and could not understand why she would do such things. She was not the Morgana he knew; the figure before him only confirmed that. The anger in her green eyes, the cruelty in her smile, gave away nothing of the old Morgana. There was no doubting, now, that she had changed.

"Hello, Arthur," Morgana said, smirking. Then she raised her hand and her eyes glowed the gold of betrayal and corruption.

The world exploded and Arthur went toppling backwards. He wasn't sure what happened first - the cessation of his flight or the impact with the tree trunk. Time jolted wildly, fast one moment then slow the next, and before he could comprehend just how many minutes had passed Morgana was in front of him again, head cocked to the side in fake sympathy as his head pounded and his vision clouded with dark, dancing spots.

Merlin shuffled beside him, trying desperately to move, to _do something_, but his body was weighed down by pain and blood loss and infection. Morgana chortled at the servant, as though she thought his weak protests were both adorable and pathetic, before her eyes flashed gold once more.

The last thing Arthur saw was Merlin's body convulse, before darkness stole away at his mind.

* * *

**A/N: **this is my first attempt at a multi-chapter fic. This is un-beta'ed, so any mistakes are my own. Hopefully it wasn't too terrible. Reviews and feedback are much appreciated :)


	2. Chapter Two

**A Master of Two Servants: **Morgana uses the fomorroh to manipulate Arthur into hunting down and killing Emrys. Little do they know the man they are both searching for is much closer than they think … AU of 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Warnings: **gore and violence. Spoilers up to and for 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Disclaimer: **Merlin is not mine. It belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

A Master of Two Servants

Chapter Two

Arthur dreamt of Merlin.

It had been cloudy, concealed – almost as though what he witnessed deep within these dreams was something secret, something hidden. But through the haze, Arthur saw those familiar blue eyes and believed, as always, that everything would be all right if Merlin stayed by his side. Even as he sunk deeper into the darkness of his dreams, he wasn't afraid. Merlin was there. Merlin was alive.

Then the nightmares came. He saw the Mortaeus flower just within his reach, but could not get to it in time. He saw the Dorocha throw Merlin into the wall, watched as his body fell lifelessly to the stone floor. He saw the mercenaries, the mace, the blood. Each moment blended into another, until he was sure of only one thing – it was Merlin who needed him this time.

When he jerked awake, it was to another nightmare. Morgana sat at the fire nearby, watching him with cold calculation, as if pondering whether he was conscious the same way he himself was. She smirked; he decided he was still dreaming just as she decided he was not.

Determined, certain, he pushed away her presence as a hallucination. It was not real. He'd been in the woods – running or resting, he couldn't remember – and Merlin had been with him, injured but alive. Merlin was _alive_. Merlin should be at his side, not Morgana.

But Merlin was nowhere to be seen and he was most defiantly not in the forest anymore. For a moment, he let himself relax. Perhaps none of it had happened at all. He tried to believe that he was back in Camelot and that Merlin would waltz in at any moment, carrying his breakfast and spurting made-up insults – until his senses truly returned, and lucidity hit him hard.

A long line of rope had been tied tightly around his wrists, stretching his arms high about his head, and only the tips of his boots rested against the stone floor. The harsh, wiry material of his restraints grated at the raw skin circling his wrists. Fiery aches darted through the muscles in his arms and shoulders, from the position he'd been forced into, and his legs creaked in protest when he tried to move them.

Worst of all was the unrelenting pain in the back of his head. He thought his skull was splitting open, over and over again. A thick coat of blood had dried into his hair and crusted onto the back of his neck, and he wanted to reach around and brush it away. Confusion briefly clouded his mind and he moved his hands only to remember, again, that they were bound.

The agony was too profound to be another dream. This was real. _Morgana _was real.

"Good morning," she said coolly, rising from her seat by the fire and stalking towards him.

Morgana stopped a mere meter away from him. Wary, he watched as she tightened his bounds until he was sure no blood would reach his fingers ever again. When he kicked out in protest, finding himself too dizzy from blood loss and a possible concussion that he could not land a proper hit, the witch only laughed at him.

"Oh, don't be like that. We have a lot of catching up to do."

Arthur glared. "What do you want, Morgana?"

"Only what is rightfully mine."

"Nothing, then."

Thick eyelashes narrowed over icy emeralds. "Would you like to know where Merlin is?"

His heart skipped a beat; then lunged into an uneven, erratic rhythm. Struggling against his bonds, he kicked out again, furious, scared, and feeling suddenly claustrophobic. "What have you done to him?"

"Don't fret, dear brother," Morgana cooed. "You needn't worry about Merlin. I left him where _no one _will find him. Perhaps I will take you to him, if you cooperate."

"What do you want?" he repeated. There was no need say aloud just what he would do, what he would give, in exchange for Merlin's safety – the desperation behind his demand gave him away all too well.

"Tell me." Morgana took a step backwards, the scrutinizing curiosity returning to her intent gaze. "Who is Emrys?"

He frowned, fingers moving uselessly against the ropes. They were secured too firmly, no doubt by magic, that it would be impossible to free himself. "I don't know anyone that goes by such a name."

Morgana's landed a hard slap on his left cheek. He flinched as his head snapped to the side and scrambled as far backwards as his restraints would allow, the pounding his head renewing its rhythm. She followed each frantic movement, until she was so close their noses almost touched.

Her eyes bored into his own, as if she could see right into his soul, could touch each of his secrets and unravel them all, as though they were nothing but ribbons lost in the win. She could know his every weakness and every fear. It sent shivers up his spine, to think that she might have such powers. The girl he had once known, once loved as a sister, was gone from those eyes. Morgana was lost – lost, like so many others, to the evil that was magic.

"Do not think you can fool me," she hissed. "Who is Emrys?"

"I told you; I don't know."

She took a small step backwards, but was she still too close for Arthur to feel any kind of relief. "Perhaps you need a little encouragement. How is Gwen these days?"

"If you lay a hand on her–"

"Your knights are nearing Camelot now, but they are not out of my reach," Morgana smirked as though she was enjoying making threats, enjoying the look of panic on Arthur's face. He didn't doubt that she was. "And let's not forget Merlin. I was going to let nature take its cause, but I could always find a way to make his death a little more… _significant_, shall we say?"

"You wouldn't _dare_."

"Oh, but I would. Unless, of course, you tell me the truth: _who is Emrys?"_

"How can I tell you something I don't know?" he spat.

"You underestimate what I will do to get what I want."

Arthur let his head fall forward, so that his chin rested against his chest. "I swear to you, Morgana, I do not know who Emrys is."

Morgana's silence, long and tense, was almost worse than her threats. He watched as she stepped away from him and back to the fire, lowering herself slowly into her chair and staring at the dancing flames. The light burned his eyes, so he turned away, staring absently at the floor. He allowed his mind to distract itself with the shadows, searching as though there was something to find in the darkness; it was better than pondering what threat she would issue next.

Eventually, when Arthur thought the possibilities would send him mad, she was standing before him once more. One of her hands went to his chest, over where his heart was, and a jolt of pain shot through his body. It lasted only for a second, but it was enough to make him cry out. The second bolt was longer, more painful. He had to bite down on his bottom lip to stop himself from screaming.

"I will force it out of you, if I have to," she growled. "And if that is not enough, it will be dearest Gwen who feels the full extent of my powers first. Then, of course, the knights. And perhaps Merlin as well, if he is still alive."

He panted frantically, gasping for oxygen. "Anything… I will tell you _anything_, but I cannot – I _do not _know who Emrys is."

"Why do you chose to protect him so–" another stab of agony, another aborted cry. "–when he posses such power? Emrys, the mighty sorcerer–" more pain. A scream liberated itself from his throat. "–hidden within Camelot's very walls. Tell me, does his magic repulse you as mine does?" Morgana smirked. Arthur didn't think he could take any more. "Or do you accept him like you never would me?"

"If you had come to me–"

"You would have gone to Uther! You would have seen me killed!"

"I would have helped you!" Arthur cried, eyes seeking hers. She stared at him, hand still over his heart, but no longer forcing dark magic into his body, and for a moment he thought he had gotten through. "I would have helped you fight it! I would have found a cure!"

Then Morgana chuckled and he knew he was mistaken. The Morgana he knew was dead. "A cure? You are more foolish that I thought."

"It is not too late, Morgana."

Morgana only acknowledged the words with a glare. "Uther would be so proud. His own son, consorting with sorcerers. Did you offer Emrys a cure as well?"

"I don't know who Emrys is!"

"For how long do you intend to lie to me?"

"I am telling the truth! Do you really believe I would associate myself with such evil?" Arthur snapped. "Magic has destroyed all that I love. It took my own father away from me and it has corrupted you!"

Morgana turned her face away from his, as if his words disgusted her. "You would never have helped me, Arthur, if that is what you believe. You are blinded by fear and hatred, just as your father before you. It will consume you, as it consumed him."

"You're wrong. It is you that is blinded; I see sense when you do not."

Her lips curled in revulsion. "Sense? What you see is nothing more than Uther's lies! He has destroyed you!"

"If that is so – if I have am so blinded by our father – then why would I ally myself with a sorcerer?"

Morgana took a hasty step backwards, doubt flickering across her pale face. Slowly, the doubt transformed into anger and then confusion. Finally, a suspicious look of glee took complete hold. "Then it seems we are both searching for the same man – or at least we will be, soon."

"What are you talking about?" Arthur asked, weary and worn. His body was weak from her magical attack and, if not for her crafty threats, he probably would have allowed sleep to take him already.

There was no reply. Morgana had stalked towards a nearby shelf and picked a medallion out from the many old, dusty objects that had been placed on the wood, seemingly never to be used again. Eyes glowing a gold that made Arthur's guts curl, she cast the coin into the flames and watched as a snake with seven heads rose from the flames. A chilling melody of hisses filled the room.

"He's a little grumpy," Morgana cooed as the beast slithered and spat angrily at the witch. Arthur felt much like doing the same. "Well, my friend, I've called you from your depths for a very good reason."

Arthur eyed the serpent warily. "What is that?"

"This, dear brother, is a fomorroh. Don't worry; you two will be well acquainted soon enough." Morgana petted the beast fondly. "In the days of the Old Religion, they were revered by the High Priestesses. They allowed them to control the minds of others."

Heat hammering, he renewed his efforts to escape. The struggling only worsened the burns around his wrists, but he knew he needed to get away. If Morgana could control his mind, who knew what she would make him do?

"The fomorroh will suck the life force right out of you. Everything that makes you Arthur will be gone, replaced only with a need so strong you will not be able to rest until it is satisfied. You must _find Emrys_."

Drawing a knife from the wooden shelves, she swiftly cut one of the snake's heads loose and smiled in a way that made Arthur think of midnight and his childhood fears of what lurked in the dark. "Your mind will be mine. Every move you make, every thought that passes through your mind, will decided by _me_. And only when you have found Emrys will you be free. Though it will be for nothing. With Emrys out of the way, it will be easy to take my rightful place upon the throne of Camelot. I will _destroy _you, Arthur Pendragon, and you will let me do it."

Arthur continued to fight against his restraints. "Never!"

"You won't have a choice." Morgana was behind him now, one of her hands on his stomach to steady him as she raised the snake near to his neck. He tensed and struggled, fear consuming his every thought the same way the fomorroh soon would, but there was no escaping her grasp. "Relax. This won't hurt… much."

Arthur's last thought, before the fomorroh wormed its way underneath his skin, was of Camelot. Morgana's words were no longer just threats. Everything he and his father had worked for would be destroyed because of him. Arthur Pendragon would be his kingdom's own doom.

The darkness swallowed him whole and the fomorroh took hold.

* * *

Agravaine came to the hovel long before sunrise, cloaked by the darkness of the starless night, to find Morgana sitting by the fire and an unconscious Arthur sprawled across the floor. He had not been expecting this, but was well accustom to Morgana's spontaneous decisions by now.

"What are you planning?" he asked the witch.

"Emrys is too much of a threat," Morgana replied quietly. "It is too dangerous to search for him myself."

"So you have convinced Arthur to do it for you?"

"Yes. And with both Arthur and Emrys out of the way, Camelot will be mine."

"Surely, Emrys is nothing more than a legend."

"I will not take that risk."

"Morgana–"

"It is said that he is my doom," she murmured. "I will not allow it. We must ensure he is destroyed."

"Of course, my lady."

"See that he is returned to Camelot. No one must suspect my involvement."

"I will see to it right away," Agravaine promised.

Sneaking back into the night with the oblivious King, Agravaine left Morgana to her thoughts. She sat by the fire until dawn, not allowing herself to sleep. The prophecy played over in her mind until the sun beamed through the window and she stood to face the new day.

Soon, Camelot would be hers. It was within her grasp now.

* * *

**A/N: **I'm a little unsure about this chapter. Feedback is always appreciated :)


	3. Chapter Three

**A Master of Two Servants: **Morgana uses the fomorroh to manipulate Arthur into hunting down and killing Emrys. Little do they know the man they are both searching for is much closer than they think … AU of 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Warnings: **gore and violence. Spoilers up to and for 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Disclaimer: **Merlin is not mine. It belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

A Master of Two Servants

Chapter Three

Gwaine was used to running. Before he was a knight of Camelot, before he met Merlin, it was all he ever seemed to do. But this time it was different. This time he had something to lose. He had to find the other knights. Lives depended on it – lives that had become far more important that his own.

Damn it, he should have gone with Arthur. That was all he could think, as he weaved through the threes, keeping watch for mercenaries and his fellow knights alike. _He should have gone with Arthur. _The King wouldn't be able to protect himself while carrying an injured Merlin and he would tire far quicker from supporting the servant's weight, which would only slow them down. Merlin didn't have any time to spare.

It had been hours, though he couldn't tell how many. The bright tones of day had long ago melted into the dark veil of a starless, moonless night and the sun showed no signs of rising again soon. He hoped perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him, that it had not been as long as it felt since he last saw the knights. Fear and frustration was dragging the minutes out. It was slowly driving him mad.

Eventually, he forced himself to stop by a small river and quench his thirst. It felt vaguely familiar there, but he couldn't see enough through the darkness to work out exactly why. Perhaps they had watered the horses there before, or made camp nearby on a patrol. Hope filled him. Camelot might be close, if he recognized his surroundings.

Rising from his perch, Gwaine cautiously began to make his way along the side of the river. More than once he slipped on the smooth rocks, but he refused to stop. He followed it forward, in the direction he thought was north, if the stream was, in fact, one they had passed before, until the first slithers of sunlight peeked over the horizon, to his right. Yes, he had to be heading in the correct direction, if the sun was rising to his right.

More determined than before, he picked up his pace until he was all but running along the rocky path. It was the same stream that they had passed at the beginning of their hunt, that lead to and from the Valley of Fallen Kings. If he continued to follow it north, he would be only meters from the famous clearing where Arthur had defeated the Great Dragon. Camelot was near.

The sun had risen higher still and he wondered if, somehow, he'd gotten lost when the crunching of leaves echoed through the trees and he could just begin to make out the familiar sound of Elyan and Leon's bickering, punctuated every so often by Percival's placating sensibility. It sounded as though they were debating whether to return to Camelot or begin searching for Arthur and Merlin. An easy decision, then.

"What are you lazy buggers standing around here for?" Gwaine called from behind them, struggling to contain his anger. "Have you been enthralled by some kind of shrubbery? Or perhaps you've simply forgotten we should have regrouped hours ago – and still haven't, because Merlin and Arthur are _no where to be seen_?"

The trio fell silent and turned to face him.

"Nice to see you too, Gwaine," Elyan mumbled.

Gwaine looked less than impressed at Elyan's sarcasm. "Where are they?"

"We were hoping you would know," Leon replied. "None of us have seen either of them since the ambush. Percival and I circled back during the night, but we found nothing."

"Nothing?"

Leon shook his head grimly. "It's almost as though they've disappeared."

"And the mercenaries?"

"Gone as well."

"Perhaps they've gotten all that they wanted," Percival added.

"What? They got nothing from–Oh. You believe they were after Arthur?"

Elyan sighed. "It's a possibility."

"They may have been working for Morgana."

"Damn it," Gwaine cursed. He ran his fingers through his hair and pounded is fist against the nearest tree, ignoring the blood that pooled into the gaps between his knuckles and breathing deeply until he no longer felt like killing the nearest woodland creature. "We have to find them."

"What if they've been separated?"

"Then we separate as well! Percival and I will search for Merlin while you and Elyan look for Arthur. I'm not returning to Camelot without them."

"We don't have much of a choice, Gwaine," Leon reasoned. "We need supplies, and more men. It is no use searching for them now."

"But if we return to Camelot now we won't have long to search before the sun sets, and we can't afford to wait until tomorrow to resume looking," Elyan argued.

"I know, but we are of no use to them unrested and unprepared. We are far more likely to find them on horseback, with a full patrol."

"Arthur has no horse and no supplies either. How will he tend to Merlin's injuries?"

"How will _we _tend to Merlin's injuries, if we go looking for them now?"

"It's better we find them now, before sunset."

"But-"

Gwaine's fury was boiling over again. They were wasting too much time. Unable to listen to another minute of their arguing, he yelled over them, "Oh, will you two _shut up_! Merlin could be out there, _dying_, and _your _biggest concern-" he pointed an accusing finger at Elyan. "-Is avoiding having to tell your sister that we've lost her lover!"

"That's not true!"

Gwaine ignored him, turning to Leon next. "And all _you're _worried about is ensuring the princess doesn't have to use his royal little legs to get back to Camelot! Do you nobles have no priorities?"

"_You _are a noble!"

"I thought I told you to shut–"

"What would Arthur think if he was here to see this?" Percival, who had been silently observing their debate with a look of both disapproval and annoyance, snapped angrily, cutting their argument short. Shocked, they all fell silent. "You are knights of Camelot, not children! I am as worried about Arthur and Merlin as you are, Gwaine, but I agree with Leon. We need to return to Camelot before we go looking for them."

As much as it pained them to admit it, Percival was right. Still, "We can't leave them another night!"

"Then we leave again as soon as we have horses and more men."

"I don't like this," Gwaine muttered.

"I know, but do you not see the sense behind it?" Percival asked empathetically.

Gwaine gave him a reluctant glare that was answer enough and muttered, grumpily, "How peeved do you think Agravaine will be?"

"Agravaine is the least of our worries," Leon said, patting Gwaine on the shoulder as he passed him and continued down the path.

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that," Gwaine replied, following after him.

Not wasting anymore time, Percival and Elyan joined them.

Camelot's torrents towered above them only moments later, welcoming the incomplete Round Table into the city that they had sworn to protect. It was not the same without their King and his warlock.

* * *

Guinevere met them in the courtyard. In a rush of motherly embraces and quiet reassurances that it was not their fault, they were whisked up to the throne room, where Agravaine and the court were waiting.

Agravaine, it seemed, had no reservations about stepping into the role of regent during his nephew's absence. The court had been listening intently to him when the four knights had interrupted their meeting. Now, they stood before the gathered nobles, Gaius included, and struggled for the right words to tell them exactly why they had returned without the King.

"We were ambushed in the Valley of the Fallen Kings," Leon spoke up, finally. They had wordlessly designated him the job of explaining. "Although we had the upper hand, Merlin was injured and we were forced to scatter. We agreed to regroup nearer to Camelot, when the mercenaries had lost our trails, but we have not seen Arthur or Merlin since the attack. Last we saw of them, they were both alive, but we fear what may come of them. The ambush does not seem to be a random attack."

Agravaine studied each of them closely. It was hard to not shiver under his scrutinising gaze. "You believe it to be something more than a coincidence?"

Leon nodded. "We are concerned that the Lady Morgana may be involved."

"Nonsense. She has not been seen for months," Agravaine insisted. "The Valley of Fallen Kings is notorious for these kinds of incidences."

"That is true."

The lord smiled slightly. "Still, we must be sure. Send a patrol at once. The King must be found."

"And Merlin," Gwaine added.

He didn't like the cold look that crossed Argavaine's face when the advisor said, in reply, "Of course."

Narrowing his eyes slightly, Gwaine gave a small bow and backed out of the room with the rest of the knights. There had always been something about Agrvaine that he didn't like, but now was not the time to dwell on it. They had more pressing matters to be dealing with.

Outside, Guinevere agreed to help them prepare. She didn't need to tell them that she wanted something to take her mind of the situation; they all understood.

With Guinevere's help, they were ready to resume their search little over an hour later, with an additional six men and a full set of supplies for both the journey and tending to all manor of injuries (Gauis had given the strict instructions on just what potions to administer, if the need were to arise, and told them disapprovingly that they should have at least rested before going looking for the missing King and servant. But each of them insisted they would be fine. They had felt duty bound to go themselves; no doubt Arthur and Merlin would have done the same for them, had it been the other way around).

Guinevere and Gaius had watched them ride out of the courtyard. As Gwaine galloped away, he prayed that he would not let them down.

Whatever happened, he swore he would not let Merlin die.

* * *

**A/N: **thank you so much for your reviews, and thanks to everyone who has favourited and followed. And for all of you wondering what's happened to Merlin... well, hopefully the next chapter will be to your liking. I apologise for the lack of Merlin _and_ Arthur in his chapter. It was a bit of a filler (but hey, at least Gwaine was there punching trees and ranting about shrubbery - am I the only who can't use the word 'shrubbery' in a _Merlin_ story within thinking about _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_? - and I tried to fit the Merlin POV which _is _in the next chapter in at the end there, but it just didn't work) and for the shortness of this chapter. I was aiming for at least 2,000 words a chapter, but I couldn't force anything else into this one. Hopefully, I can make the next chapter longer, and I'll try not to keep you waiting too long for it, promise.


	4. Chapter Four

**A Master of Two Servants: **Morgana uses the fomorroh to manipulate Arthur into hunting down and killing Emrys. Little do they know the man they are both searching for is much closer than they think … AU of 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Warnings: **gore and violence. Spoilers up to and for 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Disclaimer: **Merlin is not mine. It belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

A Master of Two Servants

Chapter Four

He had saved Arthur. That was all that mattered. Even as the mace swung towards him, even as his chest caught fire, he couldn't bring himself to care about anything other than Arthur's safety.

But it had been for nothing.

They had escaped the mercenaries. They had been heading back home to Camelot. His wound had hurt, yes, but the pain dwindled with each passing moment. A strange, detached calm had settled over his body, even if he could not seem to move. He had thought that if his death were to be like that, painless and peaceful, then he would not have minded. Because Arthur would have been safe, would have been near enough to Camelot to make it back alive and well, and he would not have failed.

But Morgana had found them. She had taken Arthur from him and left him there to die, deep within a ravine that had been forgotten by even the sun. He'd been awake when Morgana bough him here. He had noticed the rocks first, piled high around him, and the endless darkness. When she cast a spell to hide him further, it had taken all his energy to stay awake in case he needed to protect himself - though the need did not arise. Did she intend on coming back for him? He wondered why she didn't just kill him then, as he slipped unconscious again.

At first, as he drifted, all that he was aware of was Arthur's absence. He though perhaps he'd called out for his King in the drunken depths of his fevered dreams. But when, for the briefest of moments, he clung to wakefulness, he was no longer sure he had spoken at all, and all that he remembered were the mercenaries and Arthur reassuring him that he was not going to die.

Had Arthur lied? As the burning spread deep within his veins, he begun to question all that Arthur had said to him. Bitterness swept through him only to be replaced moments later by guilt so overwhelming he tried to scream for forgiveness, but couldn't find the voice to do so.

He did scream later, though, when he thought of their entwined destiny. It was too much. He had lost so much because of it, lost so much at the hands of the Pendragons that he was starting to hate that name. It teased him, taunted him, that cursed name. _Pendragon_. Yes, he _hated _the Pendragons. He hated them more than anything.

The guilt came again. This time he did beg, though he was not sure whose feet he was at. Perhaps Morgana's, perhaps Uther's. Perhaps Arthur's. He begged each Pendragon - begged one for forgiveness, one for mercy and one for acceptance - though he didn't understand _why_ he would ask for such things. Maybe this was his trail. Maybe they had found out about his magic.

Because magic that was not yet free. _He _was not yet free. It was his purpose to free his kind from Uther's oppression and yet he was so far away from his destiny now. Arthur still believed him to be nothing more than an idiot, a useless fool. His true identity and everything he did would remain a secret if he died here, and although he never sought any credit before, part of him craved it then. Greed and anger and hate consumed him.

Arthur was calling him names. Suddenly, only sadness remained. It was almost more painful than the mace's cruel mark.

Perhaps he should have called Kilgharrah, he thought. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not remember the words to summon the almighty beast. It scared him, that he seemed to have lost his father's legacy in his delusions. But the fear passed when the dragons became something else he was not sure ever existed, and the numbness returned to his body and soul.

His magic protested to this, impulsive and inexorable. It was usually so restrained, forever bubbling just below the surface, but now it bust free into the night sky, shattering Morgana's shield into a thousand invisible pieces. Her spell was useless now. Above him, it looked like the stars had exploded, and what remained of them showered down onto the trees. From the sparks, a golden dragon was born. A dancing embodiment of the Pendragon crest breathed fire onto him, onto the forest below.

The dragons had been real. Of course they had.

He heard voices in the distance. He wanted them to see it too; he wanted the world to see it.

The feeling of letting go was so liberating that he both laughed and cried with joy, and allowed himself to nestle into the familiar warmth of his own power as it rained down on him. He sunk deeper into unconsciousness again. His body was giving in to something – he didn't know if it was the fever or the healing embers of the dragon as it circled his limp form.

In his confusion, he likened it to Arthur – golden and strong and _brave _– and he welcomed its soft embrace. It cooled the blaze within him until he almost believed that his King was there with him, helping him, healing him.

Maybe he was. Merlin was too lost, now, to tell.

* * *

Arthur didn't know if his body was actually his. As he looked up at the empty night sky, he wasn't even sure of _who _he was anymore – Arthur Pendragon, or the stranger Morgana had crafted to destroy Camelot.

The fomorroh had control of most of his mind, but somewhere the real Arthur remained. He felt like an intruder within his own body. He watched on as a spectator, forever fighting for dominance over the snake as it slithered through his consciousness, stealing away his thoughts and his memories. Sometimes, he would black out, only to snap back into his prison moments later. Somehow, he knew that time had passed, that he fomorroh had won, briefly, and taken complete control. It filled him with fear to think of what could happen if the fomorroh held that dominance for so long that he lost himself.

At least, for now, his body seemed to be a somewhat useless weapon. Arthur was childishly smug that the fomorroh had not yet been able to make him move from the large ditch not far from Camelot, where he presumed Morgana had left him after he lost consciousness. True, it was not the most comfortable of places, but Arthur did not want to return to Camelot. He feared what would happen if he did. So they lay there – two intruders entwined within one body, fighting a war no one would ever see – and started at the black night. It was peaceful, but that was not good. If Arthur let himself get distracted, he would lose to the fomorroh again. He could not allow that to happen.

As the fomorroh became more and more entranced with the darkness of the night (it seemed particularly attracted to the shadows, as if calmed by them; unsurprising, really, for a creature of dark magic, he thought, and quickly blamed his new knowledge of sorcery on the influence Morgana had on his mind), Arthur worked at hiding away any memories the serpent could use against him. If he could contain them within this prison of his, Camelot and his friends might yet be saved.

Strangely, he could see it all much clearer now, the most pivotal moments in his life, even if the real world seemed somewhat distorted. His first kiss with Guinevere, the moment he met Merlin, knighting the men that had sworn to help him reclaim Camelot - it was as though he was seeing it all for the first time. He felt the elation when Gwen's lips found his; breathed in the feeling of finding something he had been searching for all his life, just as he had when Merlin had challenged him in the Lower Town; lived the liberation of going against all those ridiculous traditions of nobility; and gripped the pride he felt towards his friends as they gathered at the Round Table for the first time and pledged their loyalty to Camelot. He swore the fomorroh would never take that away from him. Never.

Just when he thought he had done it, sealed off all that was dear to him, he heard the voices and his control slipped. He was sucked under the surface for what felt like only seconds, but when the fomorroh loosened its grip on him, the sky was red, not black, and he knew it must have been longer.

No, that was not the sky that was red. The knights of Camelot were here, their cloaks forming a parachute above him. Why were they staring at him? He wanted to tell them to leave him here. He wanted to scream that he was not the Arthur they knew. But all that came from his mouth was a muted grunt, any comprehensible words quashed by the fomorroh.

A hand landed on his cheek. "Time to wake up, princess. No, nu-uh, no way. I said wake_ up_. I need you to tell me where Merlin is. Come_ on_, you big, lazy, spoilt brat, where is he?"

Panic flooded through him at the mention of Merlin's name. The emotion attached him suddenly to his body that he forgot, momentarily, just why he felt it in the first place. All his senses rushed back. He could feel the pain in the back of his head again, though it was not as bad as it had been in Morgana's hovel.

The newfound awareness of his body allowed him to get a few words out, though it appeared the fomorroh had full controlof his voice. He had intended to tell them about the clearing he and Merlin had stopped to rest in, but what came out instead was an emotionless, "I don't know."

The next slap was harder, the intention behind it less to wake Arthur up and more to ensure he understood that Gwaine's patience had not improved in his absence. "I swear, Arthur, if you've lost him–"

Before Gwaine completed the threat, the world went black. The fomorroh had full control long enough for the knights to have loaded him onto Leon's horse. They had not put in him an especially comfortable position, but he found himself unable to protest. Around him the knights were talking – no, the knights were arguing, Gwaine's voice the loudest. He heard Merlin's name, before the fomorroh overpowered him again.

The next time he was allowed awareness, it was to find that he still could not see all that well, though it was not the fomorroh's doing this time. The sky was on fire, or at least that was what it looked like. A thousand golden stars were shooting from the trees and up into the dark night. They burst into smaller constellations before simmering back to earth. It was the most beautiful display of magic he had seen.

It was much to his surprise – and the fomorroh's as well, for it was then that he first realized their emotions had become somewhat jumbled, and he could feel the serpent's as he supposed the serpent could feel his (a thought that disgusted him profoundly) – that he could force a single word of his own out.

"Merlin," he wheezed, voice strained. It was more than frustrating that the first and only word he'd managed to say was _that_, but the light – bold and buoyant and _wise_, alive with new beginnings and yet already so tested by something he could never hope to understand – reminded him so much of Merlin that it was impossible to think of much else. The fomorroh didn't like that one bit.

The knights were staring at him again. Gwaine's eyes bore into his own, a frown knotting his eyebrows together, and then realization dawned across his features. "Follow the light to its source."

"What?" Leon asked, confused.

"You heard me," Gwaine snapped, swinging his legs onto the saddle. "Follow the light."

"Gwaine, you're not–"

Gwaine was riding away before anyone could persuade him otherwise.

"What was that?" Elyan demanded.

"I don't know," Percival replied. "I've never seen anything like it."

"It looked like sorcery," one of the other knights added.

"And Gwaine believes it will lead him to Merlin?" Leon questioned, incredulous.

Percival squinted through the darkness. Most of the golden embers seemed to have gathered deep within the forest and he thought, for a moment, that he saw a dragon. He passed it off as a trick of the light and decided, anxiously, that if his friend was riding into danger they needed to do something - preferably follow him into the line of fire, as always. "We should follow him."

"What about Arthur?"

Arthur wanted to tell them to follow the light as well. It felt familiar, like the light that had found him in the caves all those years ago, when he had been searching for the Mortaeus flower. But the fomorroh protested, and when he was next awake, they were riding through the forest. He could feel Leon's presence behind him, securing him in the saddle. His body still refused to do anything, and he didn't feel so smug about it now, as he flopped embarrassingly in Leon's grasp.

Ahead of them, he could see only gold. It was like an army of fireflies had stormed the forest. At first, it was almost unbearable to look at, but once his eyes adjusted he couldn't help but stare in wonder. It was remarkable.

The sound of shouting assaulted his eardrums as Leon's horse approached the light. It was Gwaine, he realized, and the terror that washed through him at the sound of his friend's own fear was so strong that he was able to move of his own accord and grip the saddle. Leon was too focused on the yelling knight to realize.

"Hurry up!" Gwaine was saying. "Bring the supplies! I said _hurry up_!"

Leon leapt off the horse and Arthur's useless body slumped forward until his face was nestled in the stallion's wiry mane. Still filled with dread, he pushed all his weight left, until he toppled off the horse. He was able to get his footing by clinging to the reigns and, once he was sure that he could walk, he rushed forwards. It looked as though they were inside some kind of ravine – a secret castle that nature had built from rock and moss. It was so dark there, the golden light having disappeared completely, that he wondered if the sun had ever touched the ground they were stood upon.

"Sire, you shouldn't be up," Leon said, the first to realize that he had managed to get off the horse. The others knights were crowded around something on the floor, which had their full attention.

Unwilling to waste any time trying to force words out of his mouth, Arthur simply shoved past Leon until he had broken the circle of knights and saw what, exactly, they had all been looking at.

Gwaine was right. The light _had _led them to Merlin. The relief at seeing his friend, while short lived, was enough to push the fomorroh so far back into his mind that for the moment he barely felt its presence. Arthur put his hand on Merlin's uninjured shoulder, clinging desperately to him in fear that this would be the last time he would ever be himself around Merlin. There was so much he wanted to say, but the fomorroh still would not allow him to speak, even if it had backed away as though wounded by Arthur's claiming of power.

It was his desperation to help Merlin alone that allowed him to stay within his body for so long. Wasting no time, he instantly begun helping Gwaine remove the makeshift binding he'd tied around Merlin's wound when they had stopped to rest in the clearing. Merlin stared at him through half-sealed eyelids, eyes so glassy with fever Arthur doubted he saw anything. It was a wonder he was still conscious.

Gwaine was quick to swap the ruined cloth of Arthur's old tunic for a proper bandage. Neither he nor Arthur could bear to look at the wound for long. As soon as Merlin's chest had been wrapped, the cloth serving only to stop the bleeding, Gwaine ordered Percival to find him something for the pain and fever. The knight did as he was told straight away.

Arthur didn't dare speak, in case the effort caused him to lose control once more, as Merlin was given the tonics. The servant watched him the whole time, as if looking for something. Did Merlin notice something different about him? Before Arthur could tell, Merlin finally lost consciousness.

"We need to get him to Gaius now," Arthur forced the words out, afraid of the risk he was taking in attempting to speak. "Ensure he is treated straight away. Is that understood?"

Some of the knights looked as though they were going to protest. They probably believed he needed medical attention as well.

"_Is that understood_?" he demanded, desperate. He needed to know that Merlin would be all right, before the fomorroh took control.

There was a collective reply of, "Yes, sire."

Arthur breathed out a sigh of relief, a quiet "Thank you" making its way past his lips before the fomorroh reclaimed dominance. He didn't remember anything after that, not even returning to Camelot.

* * *

**A/N: **Arthur and Merlin POV, and the longest chapter yet, to make up for the filler. I bet you all thought Morgana had Merlin hidden somewhere really exciting. Nope, it's just a ravine. That's a little anti-climatic, isn't it? She _did _intend to go back for him, in chapter 2, if Arthur didn't cooperate (I don't know how if I made that obvious enough), if you're wondering why she didn't just finish him off straight away.

Magical dragons = _Merlin_ equivalent of flares.

Feedback is always appreciated. Thank you, again, for the follows, favourites and reviews :)


	5. Chapter Five

**A Master of Two Servants: **Morgana uses the fomorroh to manipulate Arthur into hunting down and killing Emrys. Little do they know the man they are both searching for is much closer than they think … AU of 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Warnings: **gore and violence. Spoilers up to and for 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Disclaimer: **Merlin is not mine. It belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

A Master of Two Servants

Chapter Five

It was a strange relief to wake up when his body did, instead of having to claw back to awareness when the fomorroh's control slipped. At least it meant that they had both been ineffective, if only for a short while. He wouldn't find Emrys while he was asleep, after all – and if Morgana was right, and disposing of this sorcerer meant Camelot's downfall, then it meant his kingdom was also still standing. For now, anyway.

But it was most defiantly_ not_ a relief to discover he was in his own chambers. That meant he was back in Camelot, exactly where Morgana needed him for her plans. For a foolish moment, when he had just awoken, he'd hoped the knights had realized he was an imposter and left him somewhere far away, and that the furious aching in his muscles was the result of being imprisoned in a place no one would ever find and he could never escape. It had been irrational indeed; the knights would not have left him, even if they had realized he was under the spell of the fomorroh, and he had used the little opportunity he got to actually speak of his own accord to order them to help Merlin. It was not a waste, of course, but it could have been his only chance to tell them what had truly happened.

_Merlin_. It was the thought of his injured servant that gave him enough freedom to touch the back of his neck in search of any sign of the fomorroh. There was no scar that might indicate what Morgana had done, and the serpent appeared to have wormed so deeply bellow his skin that he doubted it was at all noticeable. That was not good. Not good at all.

"Sire?" Leon's worried face blurred into focus above him. "Arthur? Should I call for Gaius?"

Guinevere appeared by the knight's side. "Is he awake?"

"I don't know. Perhaps we should fetch Gaius."

Arthur frowned, and before he could speak himself, the fomorroh was using his voice to tell them, "No. No, there's no need to disturb Gaius. I'm quite all right."

His voice was his own, if a bit scratchy from disuse, but it sounded so foreign (and oddly polite) to the real Arthur that he thought for certain they would notice. But both of them smiled, giving mutual sighs of relief, and he knew then that proving he was not the Arthur they knew was going to be near impossible.

"It's good to have you back, sire," Leon said, smile growing.

"It's good to be back," the fomorroh replied, accepting Guinevere's help and struggling up until he was sitting with his back against the headboard. Arthur tried to fight, like he had in the forest, but it seemed that during their time unconscious the serpent had gotten stronger. "How long has it been?"

"We found you and Merlin last night," Leon explained, as Gwen poured Arthur some water. The King took it gladly. "The ambush was little over three days ago."

The fomorroh, in its attempts to behave just as Arthur would, feigned concern for the servant, even if it knew that Morgana wanted said servant dead. "Merlin. How is he?"

Leon and Gwen exchanged a hesitant glance. The real Arthur knew that look was not a good one, but the fomorroh seemed pleased by it, even if it kept up the worried façade.

"He is… doing as well as expected," Leon answered uncertainly.

Gwen took Arthur's hand in hers. "He still has a high fever, and he hasn't been conscious since the knights found him. Gaius is doing everything he can for him."

"But he's alive?"

"Yes." Arthur almost expected Leon to add the implied _for now_. He didn't need them to tell him openly that Merlin was in a bad way – the worried glances and sheltered answers were enough.

"Good. Perhaps I'll pay him a visit later." Real Arthur prayed, again, that they would notice he was not himself – if he were, he would have insisted on going to see Merlin right away – but neither of them seemed suspicious. "But for now, there is an urgent matter I must discuss with–"

Before he could finish, the door swung open and Agravaine strolled inside, smiling broadly when he saw that Arthur was awake. For the first time since his uncle's arrival in Camelot, Arthur saw the unnerving sparkle in those dark eyes, so unlike how he remember his mother's to be, and understood why some of the knights didn't trust him.

"Ah, uncle." The fomorroh, on the other hand, didn't seem at all suspicious of Agravaine – it was almost as though it knew something he didn't. "Just the person I wanted to see."

Arthur swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. His whole body screamed in protest, and the dull ache in the back of his head turned into an unrelenting pounding beneath his skull, but the fomorroh seemed unfazed by the state of its vessel. Apparently, evil serpents didn't feel pain – or perhaps it was simply too driven to care.

"Sire, you should be resting," Leon insisted.

"I'm perfectly all right." Arthur pushed passed the knight and to the table, where his sword and armor had been left. "Now, I'm sure you all want to know what happened after the ambush."

Agravaine watched him curiously. "Of course."

_Morgana found me_, Arthur wanted to tell them, _she has me under some kind of spell. She's going to destroy Camelot. _But instead, the fomorroh said, "Not long after we scattered, the mercenaries found Merlin and I. I was forced to fight them, and we were separated. One of the mercenaries managed to knock me unconscious during the struggle and I was taken to their camp. Of course, I was able to escape almost as soon as I awakened, but not before I leaned some vital information about the use of sorcery within my kingdom."

Leon frowned, troubled. "Sorcery, sire?"

Arthur nodded – or rather, the fomorroh did. "Yes, sorcery."

"Could it be Morgana?" Gwen asked. "Was she behind the mercenary attack?"

"No. Morgana is dead," the fomorroh lied.

"Dead?" Agravaine looked as though he were having a hard time containing his glee, though Arthur wasn't sure he was simply pleased at the false news that they were finally free from Morgana's evil.

"Yes. I forced the mercenaries to tell me everything they knew. Morgana is dead, but I have been lead to believe that in her place a greater evil is infecting the kingdom," the fomorroh continued, even as Arthur tried to force the words back down. "A sorcerer that goes by the name _Emrys_ has been seen preforming magic within Camelot."

"Do you believe what they say to be true?" Leon questioned.

"Yes, I'm sure of it."

"We have not been alerted to any incidents of the magical kind for some time now. Are you sure–?"

"We have not been _alerted_, but that does not mean it is not happening," Agravaine interrupted. "There have been a number of suspicious happenings as of late – the dying crops in Arlington, the outbreak of an incurable disease in Halwell and, of course, let's not forget the curios display that led the knights to your manservant. Do those not sound like acts of sorcery to you?"

"Those three incidents are completely unrelated, and one saved the life of an innocent citizen," Leon argued. Real Arthur wanted to applaud him. "Surely, you cannot think sorcery is involved."

"I won't take that chance," the fomorroh snapped. "Emrys will be found, whether he is responsible for these incidents or not."

Gwen didn't look pleased by his announcement. "And if this Emrys is innocent?"

"Believe me, Guinevere," Agravaine said (and Arthur decided then that he did not) with a slight chuckle, as though he thought her to be nothing more than a naïve child. "No sorcerer is _innocent_."

Arthur picked up his sword from the table, turning it over in his hands as though he might have used it. The fomorroh imagined driving it through Emrys' gut. For a moment, its emotions became so entangled with Arthur's that he felt the same need to _destroy _Emrys so desperately and devotedly that he could think of nothing else but his newfound enemy. "Agravaine is right; no sorcerer is innocent, least of Emrys. He will be bought to Camelot for trial and execution."

"Of course."

"Dispatch four patrols at first light," the King ordered. The fomorroh slithered excitedly, and Arthur could sense the sudden buzz of magic within his mind, the foreign, dark kind – Morgana's magic. These orders must have been hers. "Gather eighty of our finest men – twenty to each patrol. Leon, you will take your patrol north. Ensure every village is searched, every citizen questioned. Inform Gwaine, Elyan and Percival that they will be doing the same with their patrols. Gwaine will travel south, Elyan west and Percival east. See to it right away, but Leon?"

"Yes, sire?"

"Ensure your mission remains a secret. Emrys must not be given the chance to flee."

"Yes, my lord." Leon bowed and, still looking slightly uncertain, backed out of the room.

Once the door had closed behind him, Gwen voiced her own anxiety. "Arthur, why are you doing this?"

"Because I have every reason to believe Emrys is responsible for my father's death," he said coldly. "And he will pay."

"So revenge? That is the point of this?" Gwen persisted.

The fomorroh was growing angry. "Would you fetch Gaius for me? I have a terrible headache."

"Arthur–"

"Leave us, Guinevere."

Gwen, looking somewhat hurt, followed after Leon.

"You must be tired, Arthur," Agravaine said, once they were alone. He seemed indifferent to Arthur's aggravation. "I will ensure the patrols are ready, if you wish to rest."

"Thank you, uncle. Will you ask Gaius to leave a tonic for the pain?" Arthur fought for dominance and somehow managed to influence the fomorroh into asking also, "And would you have one of the servants inform me of any changes in Merlin's condition?"

"Of course." Agravaine went to leave, but stopped just as he reached the door. "I am so glad that you have returned safely. I don't know what we would have done if…"

"You need not worry, uncle," Arthur reassured him – falsely. "I'm safe now."

Oh, how wrong he was…

* * *

Agravaine rode through the shadows, an unrecognizable figure in the night. Like usual, it had not been hard to elude the guards, and it was so late that no one would notice his absence. Arthur, still in desperate need of rest, had fallen asleep almost as soon as he'd left the young King, leaving Agravaine to prepare the patrols, and put everything in place for Morgana's latest plan.

Only the night before, while the knights had been searching for Arthur and Merlin, Morgana had snuck into the citadel to inform Agravaine of her latest strategy. It was a smart one. If they succeeded, Camelot would be more venerable than ever.

Morgana was waiting for him, a single candle lit in the window to welcome his presence. He let himself in and warmed his hands by the fire as she busied herself collecting all that she would need for the spell that would complete their plans.

"Everything is in place, my lady," he informed her. "While Camelot celebrates your demise, the patrols leave at first light. However, Sir Gwaine has refused to go with them."

"The other knights have agreed?" Morgana questioned, as she picked a dusty mirror from the shelf. Agravaine nodded. "Then why does he remain?"

"He will not leave Merlin's side."

The witch froze, turning slowly to face him. Her eyes blazed with anger. "Merlin?"

"The knights found him last night."

The fire flared with Morgana's fury. "How is this possible?"

"The knights say they saw thousands of lights flying into the sky; it was what lead them to the ravine where you had hidden him," Agravaine explained hastily. "The knights suspect sorcery. Gaius is surprised the boy even lives."

"This is Emrys' doing."

"Why would Emrys save the life of a simple servant?"

"Arthur is strangely fond of the boy. And if Emrys is working for Arthur, why would he not protect those close to him also?" Morgana's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Merlin led Arthur to the man that was to heal Uther?"

"Yes."

"A man that goes by the name Dragoon the Great?"

Agravaine frowned. "Yes. Why?"

"Dragoon the Great and Emrys are one and the same," Morgana hissed. "Merlin must be in league with Emrys."

"Surely not."

"You are foolish to underestimate him. He has thwarted my plans many times before. Emrys must have helped in someway…"

"But consorting with sorcerers is against the law," Agravaine countered. "Why would he go against Arthur, if he is so loyal?"

Morgana's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "I do not know. But he may prove useful yet."

"What do you mean?"

A dark smile crossed Morgana's face. "Merlin will lead Arthur straight to Emrys."

* * *

**A/N: **a mirror and a sorcerer-consorting servant? What is Morgana up to this time? And why are the knights even leaving Camelot? Will any of them notice something different about the King? It's strangely satisfying, being the only one who knows the answer to those questions... but don't worry, you'll find out soon enough ;)

Any place names that I used in this chapter (and may use in future ones) are from the online Domesday Book database, so are or once were real settlements. Also, I've been using Merlin Wiki for some of the information I've been using, such as spellings, ect.


	6. Chapter Six

**A Master of Two Servants: **Morgana uses the fomorroh to manipulate Arthur into hunting down and killing Emrys. Little do they know the man they are both searching for is much closer than they think … AU of 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Warnings: **gore and violence. Spoilers up to and for 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Disclaimer: **Merlin is not mine. It belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

A Master of Two Servants

Chapter Six

Morgause had given her the Mirror only weeks before their quest to the Isle of the Blessed. Like the crystal Morgause kept at her fortress, it had been used by the High Priestesses for centuries, in order to scry on their enemies. But, when wielded by the right person, it could be used for so much more.

Though it was a treasured gift, Morgana had not yet expected to use it. She did not know whether she was yet strong enough for such a task, and so it had remained neglected on her shelves for quite some time. But its power was beyond that of nearly every magical object in existence, a secret weapon her enemies could not even begin to fathom, and so she knew that now – when Camelot would soon be at is weakest, and perhaps already was, with its King under her control – was the right time to unleash it.

Before her death, Morgause had told Morgana of someone – or rather, some_thing_ – which would know how to activate the Mirror's powers, and bind it to her magic. That person was the Dochraid.

And so she had forced Agravaine to walk back to Camelot after his visit, and rode his stallion to the Dochraid's cave in the dead of the night, unsure and perhaps even fearful of what she would find when she arrived. With each step she took towards the mouth of the dwelling, she reminded herself of just what she could do with the Mirror, instead of thinking about what she would find inside.

She thought she'd come to the wrong place when she did not see the Dochraid. But then, from the shadows, it stood, and she knew as soon as she saw the creature that she had not been misled. The Dochraid was just as Morgause had described, and Morgana struggled to contain her revulsion as she approached the _thing_.

"I come in peace."

The Dochraid snatched at her hand, drawing her closer. Morgana fought the urge to pull away as it sniffed the appendage.

"Morgana Pendragon," she hissed, and let go of her hand. "Why have you come to me?"

Morgana pulled the Mirror from her belt and placed it in the Dochraid's hand. The creature traced her fingers along the jewels embedded within the silver frame, taken from the Crystal Cave itself and cast into the metal by one of the first High Priestesses, and smiled disgustingly. Again, Morgana fought to control her repulsion.

"It was a gift from my sister," Morgana explained uncertainly. "I was told you know how to harness its power."

"You wish me to bind it to your magic."

"Yes."

The Dochraid held the Mirror out to its owner. Morgana took it with shaking hands. "It will come at a price."

"Whatever the price is, I will pay it willingly."

"You must promise me that the Old Ways will return once you take the throne."

Morgana frowned, both confused and relieved that the Dochraid had asked for something so simple. It had been her plan all along, to ensure the Old Religion returned to the land once she had settled upon the throne of Camelot, and the people had accepted her as their rightful ruler.

"And you must beware. The knights' loyalties are true, and Emrys is much closer than you think."

Morgana's grip tightened on the Mirror. "I do not fear Emrys."

"He serves not only Camelot's King, but its people and fellow protectors also – do you believe he will stand idle and let you harm them?" the Dochraid questioned.

"Soon, he will be dead and his power mine," Morgana snapped. "Emrys will not stand in my way."

Silence. If the Dochraid has eyes, Morgana was sure they would be on her, and it made her uncomfortable to even think about it. She was beginning to think that coming here was a bad idea, and that she could find another way the subdue the knights and bind Emrys' power, when the Docraid finally spoke, "Very well. Come then, Morgana, we have much work to do."

* * *

When Agravaine had entered, looking rather pleased with himself, the fomorroh had forced him to sit up straight and smile, as though the knights' departure was something to celebrate. Real Arthur, however, seethed in anger at seeing his uncle. There was something about Agravaine that he didn't trust, and the knights' mission was growing increasingly worrying. Why would Morgana have such specific orders for the knights? Was she planning something? Arthur thought he already knew the answers to those questions. Had his body been his own, it would have made his stomach turn.

"The patrols have been dispatched," Agravaine announced, after he had closed the door to the royal chambers and approached Arthur's work desk. He looked as though he had been up all night and was walking with a slight limp – but despite this, the lord's spirits seemed to be high. "Emrys will be found soon enough, I'm sure."

"Thank you, uncle," the fomorroh replied, suddenly sounding somewhat distracted. Arthur recognizing his own mood, even if the serpent was causing it – often enough, it meant Merlin would have to force him into revealing what was wrong, and then would somehow manage to ensure that it was no longer as troublesome with a surprising insight to the servant's true wisdom (and then, of course, some witty remark to ensure Arthur didn't ponder too long on his sudden knowledge of destiny and responsibility).

Arthur wished, almost instantly, that he hadn't though of Merlin. The fomorroh seemed very interested in his servant, all of a sudden, and the distractedness was replaced by determination. Fear consumed Arthur, a common companion in this prison of his. What did Morgana want with Merlin? Did she want to take his friend away from his as well, just as she had his knights?

Agravaine, while apparently oblivious to the strangeness of his earlier behaviour, noticed his mood now. "You seem troubled, Arthur. Is something bothering you?"

"It's nothing."

"You trust me, Arthur."

_No I can't_, Arthur thought. The fomorroh disagreed. "It's Merlin."

If he ever got his body back, Arthur swore he was going to destroy Morgana for everything she had done – or was planning to do (as Arthur took some satisfaction in knowing that she hadn't succeeded yet). Because Merlin was innocent. Because Merlin did not deserve to be dragged into her scheming. Because Arthur could not bear to lose him and if Morgana were to see to it that he did, then he would not hesitate to avenge his friend.

"Merlin?" Agravaine echoed.

"Yes. I–I haven't visited him, since our return."

Agravaine frowned slightly, though the sparkle in his eyes betrayed him. "I can see this is troubling you. Perhaps you should pay him a visit now, to ease your mind."

Normally, Agravaine would not have encouraged him; he saw Merlin and Guinevere as nothing but servants, even when Arthur cared so deeply for them both. He would have – _should _have – told Arthur about how his people would see him as weak, how kings did not visit injured manservants. But this time, he _encouraged _it, as though he had something to gain from Arthur seeing Merlin.

It hurt. Oh, it _hurt _to know that a man he had trusted so much was betraying him. But Arthur could not deny what he knew. Whomever Agravaine was working with, whatever his agenda was, his uncle was not acting for the better good of Camelot.

"Yes, that would put my mind at ease." Arthur stood, the fomorroh's excitement tainting his own emotions, until he felt the same desperate anticipation to see his servant. It _would _put his mind at ease, to see Merlin, but he was so afraid of what Morgana wanted with his friend that he knew the best thing he could do was stay away – but the fomorroh would never allow it. "I'll be back shortly."

Agravaine bowed as Arthur left, but he did not miss the lord's satisfied smirk. The pain of his uncle's betrayal doubled.

* * *

Arthur didn't know what Agravaine or Morgana could possible want with Merlin. He was useless on a good day. And while Arthur had grown somewhat accustom to his random words of wisdom, and would begrudgingly admit to needing them every now and then, there was not much else that his servant was actually good at. Of course, he knew almost everything about Camelot, and was more involved in matters of state than most of the council members, but surely now Morgana had access to Arthur's mind she didn't need that sort of information.

That left only one reason, one Arthur didn't want to acknowledge, but couldn't rule out. Merlin was in some way connected to Emrys. He knew there was no way Merlin could be the sorcerer – it was _Merlin_, after all – but perhaps Morgana believed his servant knew Emrys. If it was true, it meant Merlin had been consorting with sorcerers; it meant Merlin had been breaking his laws. He wanted to believe there was a good explanation for it, if it was even true, but the betrayal Arthur felt deep within his soul tripled, and the hurt was so much that the fomorroh lost control just as he was approaching Gaius' quarters.

… And just as Guinevere walked out, looking somewhat troubled.

"Guinevere." Desperate, pleading, barely able to maintain dominance over the serpent, he reached out for her hand. She looked surprised – angry even, no doubt because of his behavior yesterday, but Arthur could not let this chance pass him by. "I need you to listen to me. I need you to–"

The balance tipped, and he reached a stalemate with the fomorroh. They were both powerless, unable to move or speak. Arthur felt like he was only half in his own body, and that the rest of his being was floating somewhere above him. The world spun, and he was so suddenly lightheaded that he almost went toppling to the ground.

Gwen, earlier anger forgotten, realized something was wrong almost instantly. "Arthur? What is it?"

He thought of Merlin, of his friend's loyalty and bravery, and that he would be damned if he let Morgana anywhere near _his _manservant. It grounded him only for a moment.

"There's something… my… in the…" the fomorroh would not let him do it; it would not let him say her name. If only he could just say it. _Morgana_. _Morgana is controlling me_. _She wants the knights and Merlin and Camelot, and I fear she might just get it unless we find a way to kill the fomorroh. _

"Guinevere," he begged, voice thick with emotion that was most defiantly his. _Please. Please realize. _

Gwen took his face in her hands. "Arthur, what's wrong?"

He pressed his forehead against hers, as the fomorroh slithered closer and closer to overriding him completely. It would be the last time he said it to her. It would be the last time he would be able to tell her exactly how he felt, just how much he cared for her. And if the fomorroh would let him say nothing else, then all he could do was tell her, "I love you."

And then all that was left was hope – hope that the fomorroh would do something to alert _anyone_ to his possession, hope that she believed just how much he cared for her, hope that the knights and Gaius and Merlin would know also that they were important to him, because he doubted he would ever get the chance to tell them all.

"Oh, Arthur," she breathed, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I love you too."

The fomorroh took control, and Arthur was shoved brutally back into his prison. It was a strange and horrible sensation – not that different, in fact, from being thrown around by Morgana's magic – but it meant nothing knowing that he'd let another opportunity pass, and that he might not get another chance again. And it meant nothing when he knew this embrace was goodbye, that he would never be himself around Guinevere again.

"It's going to be all right," she was telling him, fingers gently working through his hair in a way even the fomorroh found soothing. "Merlin is strong. He's going to be all right."

For once, Arthur didn't want her to accept his actions as the anger that spanned hurt and confusion and worry. He didn't want her to rule it down to Merlin's injuries; he wanted her to question him, like she always did. He wanted her to _realize. _He needed her to notice _now _or Merlin would not be all right. Damn it, why didn't she _see_?

Guinevere pulled away from him. "The sorcerer, Emrys, did he really kill your father?"

"Yes, I'm certain of it," the fomorroh replied.

"But you will give him a fair trial?"

The fomorroh had no such intentions. "Of course."

"Good."

"I'm sorry for the way I treated you yesterday." The fomorroh wanted her on its side also, but not for the same reasons that it did Merlin. No, it simply wanted her to believe that he was himself and continue to treat him as such, so that no one else would notice anything different between them and begin to question the King's behavior. Because the fomorroh refused to be discovered the same way Arthur refused to give in just yet.

"I understand. You were angry and worried and… I understand, Arthur." Gwen's smile was kind and compassionate and Arthur wanted to hide the memory of it away, so the fomorroh would never take it from him. "Now go. Gwaine needs some company."

As the fomorroh kissed Guinevere goodbye and continued towards Gaius' quarters, Arthur had never felt more helpless.

* * *

**A/N: **feedback is always appreciated :)


	7. Chapter Seven

**A Master of Two Servants: **Morgana uses the fomorroh to manipulate Arthur into hunting down and killing Emrys. Little do they know the man they are both searching for is much closer than they think … AU of 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Warnings: **gore and violence. Spoilers up to and for 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Disclaimer: **Merlin is not mine. It belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

A Master of Two Servants

Chapter Seven

The fomorroh was having none of his resistance, and it was a miracle Arthur could so much as see what was happening as they entered Gauis' quarters. Even when his anger and desperation surged, it was not enough to reclaim control. And so he was dragged, unwillingly, to what he knew would not only be his downfall, but his best friend's also.

Because while Camelot might not meet its end because of what transpired within those chambers, if Morgana was planning what Arthur feared, and Merlin was going to suffer in some way, its King just might.

Gwaine looked somewhat surprised to see him, but sat up a little straighter when he stepped inside. It was a strange show of respect – a respect Gwaine so rarely displayed – and Arthur observed the knight with the same feeling of guilt that he saw in the other man's eyes. He understood, almost instantly, why Gwaine felt the sudden need to behave so humbly, and the first thing he would have said to the knight would have been, "This isn't your fault" if he could have.

But the fomorroh seemed unfazed by Gwaine's guilt, and only mildly disturbed by the state of the manservant lying in Gaius' patient bed, even when Arthur's entire being (or what was left of it, anyway) ached with both the relief and fear of seeing Merlin again.

Merlin did not look himself. Sweat covered his body, sticking his clothes to his skin, and he was deathly pale – whiter than the sheets he'd been lain upon, and it made the circles under his eyes look almost as black as his messy hair. Fresh bandages appeared to have been wrapped around his chest, though Arthur couldn't see much of them, only a few splotches of red on clean white.

The worst part of it all, though, was how _still _Merlin was. His chest barely moved and each breath looked like a struggle, the air whistling nosily in and out of his lungs as if it nearly got trapped each time. It appeared he was too exhausted to even move. The usual signs of a high fever – thrashing and delusions – seemed to have passed, but Arthur didn't know if the state Merlin was in now was any better.

"How is he?"

Gwaine rubbed his eyes sleepily. The knight didn't look good himself. Arthur doubted he'd slept since the night before their disastrous hunt in the Valley of Fallen Kings, from the dark, exhausted smudges underneath his eyes, and his hair and beard were more unruly than usual. "Better. Gaius says he's getting better."

If this was better, Arthur was glad he hadn't been there for critical. "Good."

"Once his fever breaks, he should be back to his old self – and up to no good again, I'm sure," Gwaine said, with a forced grin, and Arthur knew the 'once' was more of an 'if.'

The fomorroh paced towards a nearby table, where a number of vials containing all manner of odd-colored concoctions were stacked, and examined each one thoughtfully, as if it knew what they could possibly be for. Arthur doubted an evil serpent would know all that much about medicine.

"Have you not left at all?" it asked, examining a vial of indigo liquid thoughtfully. _Aconite_. Poison. Arthur panic only subsided when the fomorroh moved onto a less toxic potion.

"No."

The next concoction was put down with slightly more force, something decidedly deadly about the gesture amid the lingering peace of the early autumn morning. He turned, slowly, just in time to see Gwaine flinch. The knight seemed to know what was coming. "Why didn't you go on the patrol?"

"Didn't feel like it."

"_Gwaine_."

"I wanted to stay with Merlin."

"So you do not believe that Emrys should be caught?"

Gwaine frowned. "That's not what I said. If you want this Emrys executed, then by all means do. But I won't be helping with the search until Merlin is better."

The fomorroh slithered angrily. "Do you put your loyalty to Merlin before your loyalty to me, Sir Gwaine?"

_Yes_. Gwaine's loyalties were, first a foremost, to Merlin. He and Arthur had formed a silent agreement to this, and the King did not care so long as the knight continued to serve Camelot to the best of his abilities. It meant that in a fight, Gwaine would take a hit for Merlin before he took a hit for Arthur – and in times like this, Arthur would not punish him for disobeying orders, because Camelot was in no immediate danger and Merlin needed him. That was the way it had always been. But the fomorroh knew of no such agreement, and its ignorance and petulance might just reveal Arthur predicament, if it continued this way.

"You know–"

_Yes, _I_ know. But I'm not me. _"You will not disobey me again. Is that understood?"

Gwaine stood angrily. "_Disobey _you? Arthur, I stayed behind because Merlin was _dying_. If something had happened to him while I was away searching for some kooky old wizard, then…"

"Then what, Gwaine?"

"I wouldn't be able to forgive myself!" Gwaine snapped. "It's bad enough that this even happened in the first place. I should have followed you after the ambush. We wouldn't be here if I had."

"No," the fomorroh said coolly. "I suppose we wouldn't."

Anger and hurt filled Gwaine's eyes, but Arthur focused only on the confusion there also. Gwaine knew Arthur wouldn't blame him, wouldn't be resentful and angry for something like this, when it was so blatantly not his fault. _Come on_, Arthur begged, _it's not me. You know it's not me._

"What's that supposed to mean?" Gwaine demanded.

"I think you need to rest. Why don't you return to your chambers?"

"Gaius is out doing rounds. He told me to–"

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of Merlin until he returns."

"No." Gwaine shook his head determinedly. "I'm staying."

"Gwaine. What did I tell you about disobeying me?" the fomorroh asked causally, a silent threat behind the innocent-enough question.

Gwaine's eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he backed away without a word. Arthur didn't know if it was guilt or anger that made the knight leave, but as the King watched him go, he'd never wanted Gwaine to stay more. Arthur knew he would be back soon enough, but what if it was too late?

Almost as soon as Gwaine had left, the electrical feel of magic filled the air, and the fomorroh danced with excitement. Arthur could almost feel Morgana there, watching him, waiting for his next move. It should have made the hairs on his neck rise, but the fomorroh felt no such discomfort.

Morgana's magic flowed through the air, unbidden and foreign. It slithered across the room like the fomorroh itself, and Arthur thought he could see it wind up the table legs in slow, rhythmic circles, until each potion and poison was encompassed within its embrace. The liquids within the vials begun to pulse as a lake would when disturbed by a pebble, and slowly the concoctions begun to ebb and flow like the tide, and the entire table to rattled with the strength of Morgana's poisonous power. Arthur was certain the stoppers would fly into the air and the glass would shatter (and Gaius would be furious), but nothing happened, not even when the magic became so great that the almighty, courageous King Arthur felt very much overwhelmed, and as small as the fly buzzing obnoxiously in the corner of the room.

And then it was over so soon Arthur decide he really was going crazy, and that he'd started hallucinating, until there was a loud pop, much like a cork being pulled from a bottle, and another flask appeared among the others. It was much larger than most of the other bottles, and inside was a potion almost the same color as rust. Propped carefully in front of it was a folded piece of paper addressed to him in the swirling handwriting he recognized as his sister's.

_For your dear servant_, the note read.

Arthur couldn't resist as the fomorroh forced him to pick it up and advance towards his still-unconscious servant. He willed Merlin to wake up and realize something was wrong; to look at him with the same suspicion and confusion as he had in the forest; to do _anything _that would spare him from whatever Morgana had planned. But Merlin remained oblivious and Arthur could only think of the way Gwaine almost said _if_, and of the last time his servant had drunk poison because of him.

Just as he thought it would happen again, the door opened and the fomorroh startled so suddenly that Arthur went toppling backwards into the table of potions.

He was not used to being clumsy – generally, it was a frowned-upon trait among nobles – but now he was starting to see why Merlin claimed it was one of his many gifts, for had Gaius not burst in and shocked the fomorroh into smashing nearly every bottle in the physician's quarters then he may have poisoned his manservant by now.

"Gauis," the fomorroh said through gritted teeth, and forced a smile as the final bottle rolled onto the floor and shattered like its companions. Arthur, watching on, was dismayed by the lack of reaction the noise sparked from Merlin. "Err – I may have… smashed something."

The physician raised his eyebrows, and even the fomorroh shrunk back a little. "Yes, it appears so."

"I, um… sorry."

Gaius sighed, as if he were too tired to be dealing with this. "Never mind."

"I'll have a servant clear it up later." He moved slowly away from the table, holding the intact vial behind his back (Arthur cursed the bottle for surviving the his clumsiness), and approached the stool Gwaine had left at Merlin's beside.

"Where's Gwaine?" Gaius asked, placing his medicine bag on the bench and approaching the patient bed. The fomorroh shuffled so that the vial was out of the physician's sight.

"I sent him away," the fomorroh replied. "To rest."

"Good. I suspect he hasn't slept in days."

Arthur could feel the fomorroh's frustration at having its plans interrupted. It melded together with his own worry, until their emotions were playing a game of tug of war for dominance. "Yes, he was exhausted."

"I don't doubt he was."

The King nodded at his servant. "How is Merlin?"

Gaius glanced at his ward. The sadness in his gaze almost broke Arthur. "He's doing as well as expected."

"Meaning?"

"If he can fight the fever, I believe he will make a full recovery."

"And if he doesn't?"

There was no reply from the old physician – there didn't need to be. As he busied himself sorting through his medical bag, the fomorroh wondered just how to go about its plan without alerting the old man. The fomorroh knew as well as Arthur that Gaius was perhaps the only person who would know how to purge the serpent, and that alerting the physician to its presence within the King's mind would not bode well for Morgana's plans.

"Gauis." Eventually, it decided the silence needed to be broken, and that now was the time to do something. "Has Gwaine told you why I sent out the patrols yesterday?"

"He only mentioned it in passing – something about a sorcerer, I believe."

He fidgeted in the stool. The fomorroh made a show of taking the compress from Merlin's forehead, dipping it in the bucket of cool water by his bedside and then reapply it. "Yes, a sorcerer named Emrys. I was wondering if you knew anything about him – anything that may help us find him."

Arthur didn't know if he could take another betrayal – not from someone as loyal as Gaius. But the physician had stopped his shuffling at the mention of Emrys and when the fomorroh turned to face him, he caught the look of panic on the old man's face before it was replaced by false confusion. It could mean nothing. If this Emrys was as powerful as Morgana seemed to believe, then it wouldn't surprise Arthur if Gaius only knew about him through thirst for knowledge and maybe rumors from the lower town, but if Merlin knew this sorcerer, then it would make sense that his guardian did too. Arthur didn't want to believe they had both been breaking the law by consorting with and perhaps even harboring sorcerers, and wouldn't until there was proof, but he was starting to suspect them both.

"Emrys? The name doesn't sound familiar."

"I was hoping you might have a book of some sort," the fomorroh continued. "One that may help with… _restraining _the sorcerer, once we have found him."

Gaius paled. "Restraining him, sire?"

"Yes, he will need to be restrained once he is bought back to Camelot. Surely, in your many books, there must be a way some to subdue magic, if only for a short while."

"I'll… I'll see what I can find," Gaius stammered uncertainly, before wondering off to search his many shelves.

The fomorroh seized the distraction and, as soon as Gaius had turned his back, uncorked the vial and leant towards Merlin. Arthur would have shouted if he could, ordered Merlin to wake up and Gaius to do something, but his resistance to the serpent's plans did little to hinder them, and he could only watch on, helpless, as he was forced to hold the servant's nose and carefully tip the potion into his mouth, before hiding the vial in his pocket.

Merlin swallowed the liquid reflexively, and at first nothing happened. Arthur almost relaxed – and then Merlin choked slightly, just as he had after drinking the poison for him all those years ago, when they believed they were nothing more to each other than Crown Prince and servant, and yet were still so willing to risk it all to save one another.

Arthur had never let himself think much about Merlin dying before, but it was all he could think about then. It was so_ wrong_, knowing that his servant would die at his hands. He realized, then, that he'd always thought Merlin's death would be like Lancelot's – noble and brave and meaningful. But he had never expected Merlin to die; there was almost something immortal about his servant, which made it impossible to even consider anything happening to him. Because Merlin always came out all right; if there was one thing he could count on after a battle, it was that Merlin would be waiting for him with words of comfort, and a bright smile that would make it all just a little bit better. Merlin was a constant in his life – a life Arthur couldn't quite imagine living without him.

He didn't want to watch, and he swore he would not allow Morgana the satisfaction of knowing he'd seen Merlin die. But he could not turn away. The fomorroh was determined to see its plans through, to ensure that it succeeded. It would not allow Arthur to look anywhere else but the bed, and he knew that it would haunt him for the rest of his life. The moment Morgana decided she no longer had use for him would be a blessing. Did she want to break him, before finally finishing him off?

If he had been looking away, he would have missed the first signs that Merlin was waking up. He would not have seen his friend slowly open his eyes and search his surroundings, tired and confused, yet determined to find something – or someone. It was only when Merlin's eyes found his that he relaxed and let his eyelids droop once more, but not before giving the King a drowsy smile.

"Alive, then," Merlin croaked, voice rough from disuse and thirst.

Arthur's relief was so strong that it bled into the fomorroh's own emotions, and the war for dominance was won instantly. For a moment, he forgot about Morgana's schemes and what Merlin's survival meant, and allowed himself to focus only on consuming joy of seeing his servant awake and alive. His grin was his own, even if it was the only thing he could give his servant for now, and he was glad Gwaine wasn't here to witness how close he was to tears (because he would deny, religiously, that he'd been close to crying in that moment – even though it would be complete lies to try and pretend that he hadn't). "You're not getting rid of me the easily."

Merlin chuckled. "Too bad."

"I'll have you put in the stocks for that, _Mer_lin," Arthur said, but couldn't help but laugh with his friend.

Gauis was there now, handing his ward a cup of water and then checking his vitals. Merlin let his eyes fall shut completely and Arthur thought he'd fallen asleep until Gaius asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Like death warmed up," Merlin mumbled, eyes still closed. "But I'll live."

"I should hope so," Gaius replied with a smile. "You still have a fever, but providing you continue to rest it should break soon enough. As for your injuries – well, they may take longer to heal."

Merlin hand went to his chest, as though he had only just remembered the wound. A frown wrinkled his forehead. "What happened?"

The fomorroh, now back in control (and not best pleased with Arthur's continuing displays of resistance), had questions of its own. "How much do you remember?"

"The mercenaries." Merlin's eyes shot open and he tried to sit up. Gaius and Arthur forced him back down immediately. "One of them knocked you out, and they took you back to their camp. I remember that, but after – there's nothing."

Morgana had not only saved Merlin, but ensured that he did not remember what happened also, Arthur realized.

"That's understandable, considering the condition you were in," Gaius replied.

"You gave us quite a scare, Merlin," the fomorroh added, as it wormed through the memories of his manservant that Arthur had tried so hard to lock away, determined to ensure it remained unnoticed.

Merlin, half asleep and still very much injured, smiled slightly. "You were worried about me?"

The fomorroh continued to slither though his memories of Merlin, of all the other times they had been in situations like this, and decided an arrogant "Of course not" was an acceptable reply.

Merlin laughed again, though it was weighed down by exhaustion and pain. "Thought so."

"Get some sleep," the fomorroh ordered, squeezing his uninjured arm before rising from the stool. "I expect you back to work as soon as possible. Gauis, if you do hear anything about Emrys, be sure to tell me. And don't forget about the restraints."

Arthur didn't miss the way Merlin's eyes widened at the mention of Emrys.

"Of course, sire."

The fomorroh nodded. "Get better, Merlin."

As Arthur walked back to his chambers, he was sure of two things: Morgana wanted Merlin alive, and that it was because of his connection with Emrys. Merlin would not have reacted in such a way to the sorcerer's name if he were not involved, somehow, with the man. He'd been breaking the law and lying to Arthur, and yet the King found himself more worried that Merlin would end up hurt – or worse, dead – because of Morgana's games.

And that was the worst pain of all.

* * *

**A/N: **after this chapter, I probably won't be posting everyday. I'm really sorry, and I promise I'll try and get the chapters up as soon as possible :)


	8. Chapter Eight

**A Master of Two Servants: **Morgana uses the fomorroh to manipulate Arthur into hunting down and killing Emrys. Little do they know the man they are both searching for is much closer than they think … AU of 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Warnings: **gore and violence. Spoilers up to and for 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Disclaimer: **Merlin is not mine. It belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

A Master of Two Servants

Chapter Eight

"Emrys?" Merlin demanded almost as soon as Arthur had left, struggling to sit up slightly and ignoring the pain that soared across his chest. His drowsiness had been forgotten in favor of more important matters. "_Arthur_ knows about _Emrys_?"

Gaius, expression caught somewhere between guilt and disapproval, gave his ward a steely glare. "Merlin, you need to rest. Now is not the time to be worrying about this."

"Worried? I'm not worried," Merlin babbled. "No, I'm not at all worried that Arthur _knows about Emrys_!"

"Merlin. Rest."

"I'll rest once you explain to me how Arthur knows about Emrys!"

No, he was most defiantly not getting used to _that_ anytime soon. Merlin supposed he had become complacent in believing that only the druids knew him as Emrys, and that they would keep his identity and power a secret. So even if Arthur, their fabled Once and Future King, did suddenly decide to associate himself with the druids – or anyone magical, for that matter – they were not going to suddenly tell him all about the ancient prophecies. Consequently, he'd never believed that the King would so much as_ hear_ the name Emrys. Obviously, he should have been more concerned.

"He doesn't _know _about Emrys," Gaius argued.

"Then how do you explain _that_?"

"I will explain it to you later, after you have rested. You will exhaust yourself–"

"Gaius, I really don't think I'll be getting any sleep now," Merlin huffed.

"It's nothing you need concern yourself with."

Merlin, admittedly exhausted and now somewhat more aware of his bruised and wounded chest, sighed wearily and let his shoulders fall back against the soft pillows. The world spun slightly around him. "Just tell me one thing – how did he find out?"

Gaius, with an equally weary sigh, took a seat on the stool Arthur had previously taken. "Apparently, the mercenaries told him that Emrys has been using magic within Camelot."

"But how would they know?"

"Perhaps they are familiar with the druids."

"Or Morgana," Merlin said. "We know she saw the Cailleach. She has Agravaine looking for me."

"Merlin, Morgana is dead."

Those words bought an odd and overwhelming mixture of both relief and sorrow. If Morgana truly was dead, it meant Camelot was safe, _free_. But it meant also that the girl he had once known, once befriended, was gone for good. Sometimes, he still believed he could save her. He knew he _should_ have saved her; it would have prevented so much evil, so much suffering.

But if Morgana _was _dead, he would know. She was the last High Priestess of the Old Religion; her demise would certainly not go unnoticed, not even by those with the smallest of magical abilities. He would have felt it. Magic either died with its possessor, or was released back into the earth. If he had not felt Morgana's end, he would at least have felt the cessation of her powers, or the merging of her magic with the world. It was impossible, surely.

"No," Merlin whispered. "I would know. I would have felt–she's not dead, Gaius."

"Arthur believes it to be true," Gaius replied. "As does all of Camelot."

"But it's not possible. I can still–I don't know how to describe it. Her magic is still alive."

"It is possible that her magic still remains, even after her death."

Merlin shook his head in denial, despite his dizziness. "No, you don't understand. I can _feel _it working. She's up to something, Gauis."

"That's impossible."

"No, it's impossible that she's dead," Merlin argued. "Magic doesn't feel this way when it's dormant."

Gauis frowned, and suggested, "Someone may be harnessing her powers."

"It's not that either. Morgana is alive, I'm sure of it."

Gaius, bones creaking much like his abandoned stool, stumbled to the bench that his medicine bag was currently resting on. Merlin frowned, glancing at the table and then the mess of multicolored liquids and shattered glass that decorated the stone floor.

"What happened?" he asked. "Did _Arthur _do that?"

"Yes. I think I might have startled him."

Trying his best to mask his amusement, so that he did not laugh and disturb his wound, Merlin just about managed to hide his smirk. "Really?"

Returning to his stool, Gaius handed Merlin a vial of light blue liquid. "This will help with the pain."

"It's not a sleeping draught, is it?" Merlin asked, eyeing it suspiciously.

"No. But you most defiantly _do _need to sleep."

"I need to warn Arthur about Morgana. She's planning something."

There was no chance Merlin was getting up anytime soon. His entire chest screamed in protest and his body was rendered almost useless by exhaustion caused by the lingering infection, and he fell back down onto the pillows before Gaius even got the chance to force him back.

"I have to stop her," Merlin insisted, voice weak.

"Do you expect to defeat Morgana in this condition?"

"At least let me warn Arthur."

"And what will you say? You cannot tell him you sense her magic, not with him currently searching for Emrys."

Another punch to the gut, another wave of pain and regret. Arthur not only knew about Emrys, but was searching for him as well. It hurt more than Merlin had thought, to know that his best friend was currently intent on capturing and executed him for something he could not help. Perhaps Arthur didn't know that his magic was not practiced, but inherited. Perhaps he didn't know about all that Merlin – Emrys – had done for him. But that did not change the fact that Arthur hated him solely for his magic, and still believed it to be a good enough reason to kill him.

Resentment washed through him, followed quickly by guilt. It reminded him of something, but he did not know what. Distantly, dimly, he thought he saw a golden dragon circling his feverish body. But it was a far-away memory, forgotten almost as soon as it had materialized, and with little significance at all, even if it felt important.

"Is that was the restraints are for?" Merlin questioned forlornly, when all that was left of his bitterness and shame was pain. "For Emrys – for _me_?"

"Arthur had no reason to suspect you," Gauis answered, a similar look of sadness in his old and wise eyes.

"Perhaps not," Merlin mumbled. "But if he does–"

"He won't hurt you, Merlin. You're his friend."

"And I've been lying to him. I have magic. If he finds out… he'll burn me at the stake."

"No," Gaius snapped surely. "I do not believe for a moment that Arthur would even harm you in such a way, and I will certainly not allow you to think in such a manner. And as long as we are careful, Arthur will have no reason to suspect that you are Emrys. You have protected your secret in the past, and you will now."

"He's _looking _for me. He knows I'm in Camelot. What if he–?"

"_Merlin_. You need to rest. We will discuss this later."

Merlin, too tired to argue and no longer sure if he wanted to know the answers to his many questions, downed the potion Gaius had given him. Almost instantly, blissful numbness enveloped his fingertips and toes, and begun to spread upwards through his body, until the fire in his chest dimmed to a small, forgettable flame. The feeling of weightlessness followed, and he felt himself drifting off into sleep. _  
_

Soon, he was dreaming of flames, and of Arthur standing over him with chains in his hands and a cursed name on his lips. _Emrys_.

* * *

Sometime later, when day had bled into night, and the stars had replaced the sun, Merlin woke again, somewhat more aware of the pain in his chest, and rather reluctant to open his eyes. His dreams had been troubled – full of fire and fury, a tangle of hurt and fear and Arthur's betrayal – and, despite the hours he had spent unconscious, he wanted nothing more than to fall back asleep, though preferably without the nightmares.

He had almost slipped back into unconsciousness when there was a snort and something that felt suspiciously like a boot jerked into contact with his leg. Forcing his eyes open, he soon found the offending footwear, and their owner. Gwaine was fast asleep in the chair beside him, feet propped up on the cot right next to Merlin's legs, and head drooping forwards so that his chin rested on his chest. He was snoring... loudly.

Memories that had before been distant and forgotten came back into focus. His magic had come alive in his moment of desperation, when he had been so close to death that he had felt nothing but its icy hold, and his spirit leaving him. It had become a brilliant golden dragon, soaring above his body. It had bought him back from the brink of death, had lead the knights to him. Gwaine had gotten there first, shouting and swearing and desperate. Had Gwaine seen the dragon? Had the other knights seen it? They had rescued him and Arthur – he remembered that now.

He panicked. What if they had seen him using magic? Did they know that _he _was Emrys? No, surely not. Arthur was currently looking for Emrys – why, if the King knew his true identity, would he continue obliviously on with his search?

"Merlin?" Guinevere asked softly. Until then, he hadn't realized she was there, sitting opposite Gwaine and looking very much like she could do with some sleep herself. "Are you awake?"

An incoherent mumble was all he could manage in reply. His throat and mouth were too dry, and every moment – even as miniscule as breathing and talking – aggravated his wounds.

Gwen seemed to understand immediately what he needed and rushed to a nearby table to fill up one of the cups placed there. Before handing it to him, she helped him up so that his shoulders rested on the pillows and he was sitting more upright position (a long and difficult process, since it caused Merlin so much pain, and while he was hiding it well, Gwen noticed it, and continued to apologize profoundly until he was settled), so that he could drink without choking or spilling the water.

Once he had gulped almost all of the water down, he handed it shakily back to Gwen and croaked, "Thank you."

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Merlin lied.

Unconvinced, she gave him a stern look. "_Merlin_."

"'M fine, really," he replied. "I'll be up and about in no time."

Gwen smiled, and while she knew he was still lying didn't push him further. "I'm glad you're awake. We were all so worried."

Merlin tried to smile in return, and tell her that there was no need for them to worry, but again all he could manage was a slurred grumble. His eyes drooped, and sleep almost overpowered him.

"Merlin," Gwen called gently. "Gaius wanted you to eat, if you feel up to it. Audrey's made you some broth."

His stomach rumbled at the prospect of food, even if it was simply broth, and staying awake was suddenly far more inviting. "Sounds good."

"I'll be right back, then."

Gwen grinned, and gave his uninjured arm a slight squeeze before hurrying off to the kitchens. Merlin relaxed back into the pillows and occupied himself by looking around Gaius' quarters. He saw the room everyday, and had memorized almost every inch of it by now, but it was a good enough distraction. The mess Arthur had made earlier had been cleared up, the flagstones now clear of any broken vials or spilled potions, and through the open door to his bedroom he saw that Gaius was asleep in his bed. _Good_, he thought.

Gwaine, used to waking up on hunts and patrols whenever there was a noise, in case they were in some kind of danger, stirred at Merlin's shuffling. Straining to see if the knight was in fact awake, Merlin's wounds protested angrily, and he couldn't help but cry out in pain. Gwaine was awake in an instant, wide-eyed and ready, the tension in his shoulders only releasing slightly when he saw there was no threat. A look of intense relief flooded his features, and he grinned brilliantly at Merlin.

"Merlin, mate," Gwaine said. "You have no idea how good it is to see you awake. How are you doing?"

"Fine," Merlin replied, for the second time that night.

"You're a foul liar," Gwaine informed him matter-of-factly.

Merlin chuckled, though winced at the pain it caused him. "You know me too well."

"Yeah." Gwaine looked nostalgic, even sad, at this – maybe unconvinced by his own words even as they left his mouth. There were questions in his eyes that made Merlin's heart sink. "I do."

"Thank you, Gwaine," Merlin told him solemnly.

"For what?"

"Coming back for us."

A tortured look crossed the knight's face. "If I had–"

"Gwaine, if you're blaming yourself, then _stop_. Now."

"I should have come with you in the first place," Gwaine growled, rising from his chair and pacing angrily back and forth, as if his own guilt made it impossible to sit still. "None of this would have happened if I had."

"You'll wake Gaius up. Sit down."

Gwaine glanced into Merlin's room at the sleeping physician and then eyed the stool as though it was his enemy, but shuffled slowly towards it and took a seat anyway. "I'm sorry, Merlin."

"Stop, Gwaine. None of this was you fault."

"Arthur said–"

"_Arthur_?" Merlin questioned incredulously, frowning. "He knows as well as I do that you are not to blame."

"Really? That's not the impression he gave me."

"Whatever he said, he didn't mean it."

"He was right, though," Gwaine muttered.

"You know that's not true."

The knight rubbed his eyes tiredly, not looking at Merlin. "He's angry because I didn't go on his stupid patrol."

"Exactly. He didn't mean what he said," Merlin insisted, though Gwaine still looked unconvinced. But feeling of dread pooled into his stomach when Gwaine's words truly registered, and he had to ask, uncertainly, "What patrol?"

"Princess had eighty-something knights out looking for some sorcerer – Emrys, apparently. The old man that killed his father, tried to enchant him and Gwen or something? Leon, Elyan and Percival went, but I, err, refused."

Merlin swallowed, trying to mask his alarm. "Emrys?"

"Yeah." Gwaine looked suddenly hesitant. "I, um–Agravaine, he said… the light, in the forest, the one that lead us to you… he thinks that might have been Emrys."

"It… it was."

Merlin's words were less than convincing. Perhaps it was born from fear, from not being ready to tell Gwaine - or anyone else, for that matter - about his magic just yet, not now Arthur was hunting for Emrys. Perhaps it was because of his reluctance to lie to his friends, despite his hesitance. Either way, Gwaine looked dubious and, under a careful mask of indifference, hurt that Merlin would try to lie to him

"I saw the dragon, Merlin. It was healing you. You were–I thought you were gone, but it bought you back."

"I don't remember."

"You're lying."

"Gwaine..."

The knight shook his head sadly, stopping any further protest. "If this Emrys healed you–" there was a strong emphasis on the _if_, and an even deeper tone of disbelief embedded in Gwaine's words. "–Why would Arthur hunt him down? He saved your life."

"Arthur hates magic. And the sorcerer…" Merlin swallowed thickly and turned his eyes away, in order to mask his sorrow. "Emrys killed Uther."

"I thought that sorcerer's name was Dragoon."

"They're the same person." Merlin found little comfort in to telling Gwaine one small truth. It was not enough.

"Oh," Gwaine said, quietly. "Arthur never really explained it. What happened?"

"I–I can't…"

"Come on. Who am I going to tell?"

Merlin took a deep breath and turned back to the knight. "Arthur tried to heal Uther with magic, but… it didn't work."

Gwaine managed a second and equally as meager, "Oh."

His guilt overpowered him again, and Merlin turned away once more. It had been months since Uther's death and yet he could not shake the blame. He'd always thought that when Uther died, he would be relieved, happy – Arthur would take his rightful place on the throne, after all, and his destiny would have been closer than ever. But he could not forget the pain in Arthur's eyes after Uther had died, how the young King blamed magic for his losses now more than ever. It seemed so far away, their fated destiny, without the naïve hope he'd clung to when Arthur was a prince.

"But it wasn't his fault, was it?" Gwaine asked eventually, with surprising hesitance; he'd never been particularly shy or quiet in the past. "I don't believe it was his fault."

Merlin's wide eyes met Gwaine's, heart pounding in both panic and anticipation. _He knows_. "No. No, it–I don't know."

"I have no one to tell," Gwaine said vaguely, after a moments pause. The same anticipation that Merlin felt shimmered in his eyes. "Secrets are–well, I know how to keep 'em."

"I don't–I _can't_…" Merlin choked. He suddenly missed Lancelot, missed the way he could be himself around the knight.

Gwaine looked sad – disappointed, even – that Merlin continued to hide the truth. "Merlin, did Emrys–whether he be a stranger or a somewhat more _personal _relation–save you in the forest?"

"Yes." Merlin looked right at the knight, then. "I think he did."

"Then Arthur is making a mistake."

"Arthur is doing what he believes to be right."

"_This _is right? If he finds Emrys–"

"I know!" Merlin snapped, regretting his harness as soon as the words were out. He closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath, despite the pain it caused him. "I'm sorry."

Gwaine was quiet. Then, finally, "He won't find Emrys. I give you my word."

Merlin opened his eyes and managed a small smile. "Thank you, Gwaine."

"But you can tell me anything, you know."

The servant nodded, and whispered, "I know."

But he kept quiet after that. They didn't speak again until Gwen returned.

* * *

**A/N: **soooooo... I'm back with a bit of a boring chapter. Kind of glad it's over, it was a surprisingly hard one to write. Next chapters already finished, since I wrote it first then realized that it didn't fit quite yet, so will hopefully be up as soon as possible.

Feedback is always appreciated :)


	9. Chapter Nine

**A Master of Two Servants: **Morgana uses the fomorroh to manipulate Arthur into hunting down and killing Emrys. Little do they know the man they are both searching for is much closer than they think … AU of 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Warnings: **gore and violence. Spoilers up to and for 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Disclaimer: **Merlin is not mine. It belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

A Master of Two Servants

Chapter Nine

Leon had not expected to miss his fellow knights so much.

The men that had accompanied him on his patrol were by no means strangers, and he knew them all well enough, but it did not feel quite right to be away from his friends. Without Arthur and Merlin's constant banter and Gwaine's endless tavern tales, Elyan's often-odd solutions to their dilemmas and Percival's calmness, it was not the same. And it was lonely, in a way, being so far away from Camelot without his brothers-in-all-but-blood.

He worried about Merlin constantly. They could not send word back to Camelot when they were between villages, unless one of the knights was sent back and forth, which was impractical, and so there was little way of knowing of Merlin's condition until Arthur sent word. Even then, the King might see it as inappropriate or weak to include the wellbeing of his servant in his reports, so Leon would most likely not discover his friend's fate until they returned to Camelot.

Part of him wished he had stayed behind with Gwaine. But this mission was important and Arthur had entrusted it to them. Emrys needed to be caught – and then he could return home and make sure Merlin was recovering.

Still, it did not ease his mind to know that they would return as soon as Emrys was found by one of the patrols. He would not forgive himself if something happened to Merlin while he was away. Arthur would reassure them all that what happened on the hunt was not their fault, of course, but Leon would not believe him.

And so he hoped they would find Emrys soon, for the sake of his sanity.

Though it seemed the further north they went, the less likely it was that they were going to find anything. The air became cooler, the terrain hillier and sparser, and the villages further apart with each league passed. Each person they questioned said they knew not of this Emrys. Even the people of Arlington, who were now staying in a nearby village where the crops seemed to be growing far better, had not heard of the sorcerer. He was starting to wonder if the man was a myth, until they stopped in the town of Oldridge.

It was one of the largest towns on the northern border, where key trade between the people of Camelot and Mercia took place, now that the two kingdoms were at peace. The main square was a bustling place full of temporary market stores and street performers that had come form all over the land, and even oversea territories. The houses were well built, some from the rare materials bought from foreign vendors, and the surrounding fields always flourished during the harvest. Many people had moved here from the smaller, surrounding settlements for both the better living conditions and trade, and Arthur often credited the town as something of a landmark.

Lord Gilbert of Oldridge oversaw all of this himself, and was an old friend of both Arthur and Uther. He had allowed the knights to stay in his large manor, where they were well looked after by servants from the town, and where their horses were given proper rest and care in the warm stables. It was also the first place they were able to send word to Arthur about their patrol, even if their report was brief and quest so far fruitless.

On their second day of staying there, the knights ventured into town once more to question the people and traders. Some of the knights were sent to the village blacksmith to see to it that their swords and armor were still fit for use and others were ordered to gather supplies for the next week, instead of having to interrogate the townsfolk. It was then, finally, that they discovered more about this Emrys.

Leon had been called over to a market store stocked full of a large number of exotic fruits by Sirs Geraint and Kay, who claimed they found a man that knew of Emrys. It was Geraint – Arthur's previous second-in-command, until he'd stepped down following the birth of his twin sons and Leon took up the position – who warned Leon about the salesman.

He went by the name Madoc and, according to Geraint, had been in the village for little over a month (though planned on leaving very soon to find business elsewhere) and had been staying in a nearby inn while selling fruits from his market stall. He was willing to tell them about Emrys for a hefty prince, though neither he nor Kay trusted the man. However, they had decided to give him a chance, since he was the first person who'd claimed to know anything at all about this elusive Emrys.

"Sir Geraint tells me that you know of Emrys," Leon said, once he'd arrived at the stall. "Is this true?"

"For a price, yes," Madoc replied, with a smile Leon most defiantly did not trust.

"Emrys has broken the law," Kay snapped impatiently. "It is your duty as a citizen of Camelot to tell us everything you know about this sorcerer, so that we can catch him and bring him to justice."

Madoc simply smiled. "Well you see, Sir Knight, I'm no citizen of Camelot, so your laws don't apply to me."

"Our laws apply to anyone within our kingdom, citizen or not."

"Then no, I do not know this Emrys," Madoc replied.

Leon struggled not to sigh in frustration. "Name your price."

"Ten gold coins."

"Five."

"Seven."

"Six."

"_Seven_," the salesman emphasized. "No more, no less."

Geraint reluctantly passed over the gold. Madoc carefully counted each coin before clapping is hands together and half-shouting, "Right then, what do you want to know?"

"Where does Emrys dwell?" Kay questioned.

"I hear he lives in a cave full of crystals," Madoc replied. "Or next to a lake. Maybe inside a tree."

The three knights exchanged looks of mutual frustration.

"So you don't know?" Geraint prompted.

Madoc continued as if the knight hadn't spoken. "But most say he resides within Camelot's city walls."

"Most?"

"The druids," Madoc said, as though it were obvious. "But they're wrong, of course."

"You're going to have to be a little more specific," Kay said.

"Emrys lives far away from Camelot. I can tell you the exact location, for another seven coins."

Again, Geraint paid the man. Once Madoc had checked it was he right price, he continued, "Emrys lives deep within the tunnels of Ysbaddaden's Mount, where it is said no man can find him."

Leon glanced at his fellow knights. Kay looked somewhat skeptical, but then he trusted very few. Geraint looked slightly more convinced, but perhaps still uncertain. Both gave him nods to confirm that they too had all the information they needed, and Leon replied to the salesmen, "Thank you, sir. Your help is greatly appreciated."

Madoc gave them a toothy grin. "Glad to be of assistance."

The trio of knights left Madoc to see to his customers and, after gathering the rest of the men who had accompanied them to the market place, set off back to Lord Gilbert's manor.

"Do you trust him?" Geraint asked, on the journey back.

"No." Leon shook his head. "But this is the first, and only, lead we've had."

"Ysbaddaden's Mount is not far from here, if what Lady Elaine tells me is correct," Kay added, with a slight smile at the mention of Lord Gilbert's daughter. "Which I don't doubt it is."

Leon gave the knight a disapproving look. Kay was one of Arthur's most skilled warriors, but he was still young and rather reckless – especially when it came to women. Lord Gilbert, while a forgiving man, would not be best pleased to discover that his only daughter had been frolicking about with one of the knights he had so graciously accepted into his home. Kay, in reply, simply shrugged.

Leon let out a tired sigh and turned back to Geraint. "Send word to the King. We depart for Ysbaddaden's Mount at dawn."

* * *

Lady Elaine, while the spoilt daughter of a rather rich lord and the subject of much adoration from all three of her older brothers _and_ the people of Oldridge, was wholly unsatisfied with her life. And so when Madoc, a funny and incredibly flattering conman of a similar age, waltzed into the village and took a liking to her, she was not hesitant to go against her father to be with him (ever if their relationship consisted mainly of brief, secret rendezvous in a secluded part of the forest, where they drunk the wine Elaine had stolen from the cellar and fantasized about running away together).

When Morgana had stumbled upon them one day and offered to pay the couple enough for their safe passage to the continent, both Madoc and Elaine had agreed to aid her plans. Though Elaine would be going against both her father and King, they thought only of the money – it would be enough to get them to the foreign lands they both dreamed of, and little else mattered to them but that.

So Elaine had mentioned Ysbaddaden's Mount in passing to the naïve and infatuated Sir Kay during their brief conversation after dinner (which the knight would most likely turn into an epic tale of love and lust when his easily-convinced companions asked about it later), and Madoc had told the leader of the Camelot patrol, falsely, that Emrys lived inside this mountain. The knights, while somewhat reluctant to trust him, had decided to depart for Emrys' pretend hiding place the next day – and there, Morgana would be waiting for them. Their jobs were done.

After finally seeing their plan through that day, the pair had prepared for their journey abroad and met deep within the forest that surrounded most of Lord Gilbert's estate. There, they waited for Morgana.

It felt like a lifetime had passed before they heard the galloping of hooves and a black mare and hooded rider appeared from the shadows. Morgana climbed gracefully from the saddle, pulling the hood of her cloak back from her pale face, and smiled darkly at Elaine and Madoc, both of whom looked terrified senseless, and were clinging shamelessly to each another.

"I trust the deed is done," the witch said.

Madoc seemed to think better of his fear and, although trembling somewhat, took a bold step forward. "The knights depart for Ysbaddaden's Mount as dawn."

"Very good."

"Our–our payment, my lady?" Madoc asked nervously.

Morgana chuckled and asked, "Did the knights not give you enough?"

Elaine and Madoc shared a nervous look. Morgana's amusement deepened.

"You can have your money," she said, eventually, when the couple looked about ready to run screaming. "But breathe a word of this to anyone, and I will see to it personally that you do not make it as far as the port."

"Of course, my lady," Elaine stammered, stepping forward to take her lover's shaking hand in her own. "We will tell no one."

"Then have a pleasant trip." Morgana sounded as though she couldn't care less, and would not so much as bat an eyelash if they were devoured by a sea monster on their voyage. Nonchalantly, she tossed a large pouch filled with gold coins in their direction before returning to her horse, fully expecting them to be on their way, but Elaine called after her,

"What will you do to them?"

Morgana smirked. "Have your feelings for Sir Kay escalated?"

Elaine blushed furiously. "No. Of course not. But…"

"You will know soon enough," the witch replied. "Now be on your way."

"Wait!" Elaine cried. "What of my father?"

"_Elaine_," Madoc hissed in warning.

"No harm will come to him, if he does not resist change."

"And if he does?"

"Then you'll wish he accompanied you on this little escapade – and I'm sure he will too," Morgana replied, eyes sparkling with twisted glee. "Now go, before I kill you both."

Elaine and Madoc scurried off into the night, and Morgana remounted the mare she'd stolen from a breeding ranch not far from Oldridge (since Agravaine had requested she return his horse). Ysbaddaden's Mount was not far away – and neither were the beginnings of her plans.

* * *

Ysbaddaden's Mount was, as Lady Elaine said, not far from Oldridge. It took the knights perhaps half a day to reach the mountain and, after tethering their horses to a fallen tree nearby, took the somewhat perilous trek towards the tunnel entrance.

The mountain was quite a sight. It was rumored, by many, that it was created not by nature, but by the work of magic, as it was far wider than it was tall and looked something like an overgrown molehill made out of rock and coated, sometimes, in untouched snow. Before the Great Purge, when the people of Camelot were not afraid to speak of magic, the forming of the mountain was a common bedtime tale. According to legend, Goreu, nephew of the giant Ysbaddaden, buried his monstrous uncle there after slaying him, and erected the mountain as a tomb both to mark his grave out of respect, despite his cruelty, and ensure no mortal would ever find his body. It was not known if Goreu did, in fact, use magic to form the mount; now, most said he did not, as Goreu was portrayed as the cousin of the first Pendragon, Arthur's oldest known ancestor, and the Pendragons were, of course, no friends of the Old Religion. But it was a fondly remembered table, even if it seemed to have faded away with the use of magic.

Few talked of this legend now and even less believed it, but it was still widely acknowledged that a sorcerer – whether it be Goreu or another – died on that very mountain, and upon his passing allowed his magic to seep into the rocks themselves, where it would stay for all eternity. This much was believed to be true, as the druids accepted the mount as a sacred place and many sorcerers spoke of the power it held – magic could be drawn from its very essence, as water from a well. But this power could only be used and harnessed within the magic-enhancing caves inside the mountain, so many sorcerers used to go there to preform complicated rituals.

The knights were uneasy about visiting such a place, with its strong magical and druidic origins. Uther had forbade the use of the tunnels and caves within the mountain on punishment of death, but it was the only lead they had so far, and therefore their investigations were hindered neither by their prejudices nor the law.

What was more unnerving, now that they had arrived, was the entrance to the caves. Carved into rocks around the tunnel's opening were symbols that none of them could decipher, though one knight, Pelleas, who had worked with Geoffrey of Monmouth before joining the royal guard, claimed to have seen the markings before and, while he did not know exactly what they meant, thought them to be of some kind of warning.

These markings were not the only warnings. Bloody banners of many different kingdoms, familiar and unknown, had been torn into rags and hung from the spidery branches on surrounding trees. Discarded items of other warriors that had dared to venture there – predominately swords twisted out of shape and plunged into the ground, and tattered shoes tied up among the banners by bloodstained string – also littered the landscape, and the land itself seemed infused with a strange sense of foreboding. They felt increasingly unwelcome, and very much like they were being watched.

"What a cheery place," Kay noted, as they all stared at the seemingly-endless abyss that was the rather small, but significantly terrifying, entrance to the cave and continued to stand a good distance away. "Is there any other way inside?"

Leon shook his head. "No, this is the only entrance."

"Perhaps Emrys has moved on," Sir Hoel said.

Kay nodded in agreement. "Surely, he could magic himself a fortress, if he so wished. Why would someone like him live _here_?"

"It enhances magic, that's why," another knight, Yvain, added.

"But only inside the caves," Pelleas argued.

Geraint unsheathed his sword and stepped forward, effectively silencing the younger and more hesitant knights of the group. "Come on – we won't know until we go inside."

Soon, the patrol, lead by Leon, who walked ahead with Geraint, had advanced so deep into the caves that they could no longer see the light of the entrance. They had no perception of how far they had walked, or how long it would take them to return to the forest, and had only five torches with them to illuminate the tunnels, which were just wide enough to fit two knights shoulder-to-shoulder at one time. It seemed, with each step they took, more and more unlikely that Emrys would chose such a place to live, and many of the knight were grumbling about retuning to Oldridge by the time they had reached what seemed to be the center of the web of tunnels, where a circular-shaped alcove of sorts had been formed and more strange symbols decorated the stone walls.

Pelleas held his torch to the markings and squinted to see what they meant. "They're similar to the symbols around the entrance, though not the same. These are less to ward away trespassers, but rather to… well, I think they may be the words to some sort of spell."

"To enhance magic?" Leon questioned.

"I can't be sure," Pelleas replied. "But I suspect so, if the rumors are to be believed."

"Why would this Emrys need–?" Kay begun but fell silent when Pelleas' touch suddenly flickered out, and the markings were swallowed by the shadows. "What was that?"

"Just the wind," Geraint reassured them, extending his own torch so that Pelleas' could relight his, but the fire would not catch. "What's wrong with this thing?"

Geraint's torch blew out as well, leaving only three still blazing.

Kay looked around nervously. "There is no wind, Geraint."

"Of course there is," Yvain shot back.

"No," another knight spoke up, as the flame on his torch died also. "There is no wind."

"Then what–?"

Another torch went out. Only one remained.

"Do you think its Emrys?" Kay hissed.

"I don't know, since I _can't see anything_," Yvain snapped in reply.

"Quiet," Leon growled. The sound of rumbling echoed through the tunnels.

"Is that–no. Are we…?"

The final torch went out, plunging them into complete darkness, and the grumbling climbed to its crescendo. Dropping the torches in favor of their swords, the knights grouped together in the center of the alcove as the wind that had before been nonexistent now circled them like a predator.

"Is there something out there?"

"No. No, I don't think there is."

"Well, none of us can _see_, can we? So how are we supposed to know if–?"

"_Kay_. Shut up."

A feminine chuckle came from one of the tunnels.

Geraint recognized it almost instantly. "Is that...?"

"I can't be," Leon whispered.

The laugh came again, from a different burrow.

"I think it is," Kay murmured, voice caught somewhere between fear and shock.

Through the darkness, the last thing each of them saw was a set of glowing golden eyes.

And then there was nothing.

* * *

**A/N: **anyone remember Geraint? He was the knight in 'The Curse of Cornelius Sigan', who fought the gargoyles with Arthur and shouted a lot. Yeah, him.

And for those of you who known Arthurian legend (which I, by no means, claim to), you may recognize the names used in this chapter. Everyone (except Gilbert... Gilbert is just Gilbert, with no significance or relation to the legend at all) who is named in this chapter is from the legend. Madoc, even, is Arthur's brother in some of the early Welsh legends apparently, and Kay, more famously, was Arthur's foster-brother. But they have no relation to the legends in this story, except their names, so neither Madoc nor Kay are relatives of Arthur's, and Elaine is not going to fall madly in love with Lancelot.

As for Ysbaddaden's Mount, well... if you've heard of the story _Culhwch and Olwen,_ you'll know Ysbaddaden as Olwen's gigantic and rather disgusting father. You'll also know there is no such thing as Ysbaddaden's Mount, and that Goreu (who, like Culhwch, was Arthur's supposed cousin) was not a sorcerer, and did not burry Ysbaddaden under a mountain, then name said mountain after him. That was my spontaneous and made-up legend, that most defiantly came out of no absolutely nowhere.

Feedback is always appreciated :)


	10. Chapter Ten

**A Master of Two Servants: **Morgana uses the fomorroh to manipulate Arthur into hunting down and killing Emrys. Little do they know the man they are both searching for is much closer than they think … AU of 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Warnings: **gore and violence. Spoilers up to and for 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Disclaimer: **Merlin is not mine. It belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

A Master of Two Servants

Chapter Ten

Merlin spent most of the next few days sitting by the fire, wrapped in blankets and slumped in the most comfortable chair he'd ever had the pleasure of sitting in (most probably because it belonged to Arthur, who'd been strangely nice to him since the mercenary incident). And despite being bundled in nearly all the King's blankets, and having incinerated far more wood than they were usually leased, he was feeling cold and ill and incredibly sorry for himself. The fever lingered, stubborn and unrelenting. Gaius said it should have broken by now, but the physician wasn't too worried about it, as it wasn't high enough to cause concern.

Despite Arthur's spontaneous gift-bearing and Gaius' many concoctions, Merlin felt as though he was getting worse rather than better. There was something very wrong. Merlin felt increasingly restless, but it went beyond the realms of the boredom that came with being mostly bedridden. Powerful magic was at work within the kingdom. There was a poisonous taint to it that made him sure not only that Morgana was alive, but that she was plotting something while Camelot celebrated her death. Gaius thought this magical stirring in the earth had awakened his own magic, which was subtly trying to unravel what was happening, leaving his body weak and venerable. It certainly explained why his fever continued even later into the week.

At least Gwaine was around, occasionally trying to pry the truth out of Merlin and looking akin to a scolded puppy when he didn't get the desired result, but mostly telling tales about woman and taverns and everything else, after realizing that he was not going to get a confession from the servant just yet. The knight's brief, daily visits did help with the boredom, and even under strict orders not to leave the physician's quarters he still knew what was going on in the outside world.

Gwaine didn't mention Arthur in his daily reports about the happenings of Camelot (though Merlin knew the King was just about coping without him because he turned up every now and then, bearing blankets and food and sometimes furniture, fully dressed and complaining about his temporary manservant; and when he was too busy to stop by, Gwen would visit and fill him in), but he did talk about the hunt for Emrys. Apparently, they'd heard from Leon's patrol, who were staying in the northern village of Oldridge. They had been informed that Emrys lived within the magic-inducing caves of Ysbaddaden's Mount, and had gone to investigate.

"Will they find him there?" Gwaine had asked.

Merlin shook his head in reply. "No."

"Because he's in Camelot?"

"Who knows?"

The knight grinned at him. "You."

"So how is Mary?" Merlin quickly sidetracked.

Gwaine laughed shortly, hurt glistening in his eyes, and told him about the pretty barmaid anyway.

When Arthur had come by, he'd seemed pleased, but not overly so. For some reason, it was as though he knew as well as Merlin that they wouldn't find Emrys in the caves – although there was a strange look in his eyes that gave away that they would find _something_. It put Merlin on edge.

"Are you all right, Arthur?" he'd asked.

"Of course." The King finished adding wood to the fire and settled in the chair next to Merlin's (which was also from his personal collection). "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You just seem…" Merlin shook his head. "No, never mind."

"_Mer_lin," Arthur growled. "Tell me."

"What do you think the knights will find in the caves?"

The odd look was back. "Emrys, I hope."

"Why have you suddenly started searching for him?" Merlin knew it was dangerous, to be asking these questions, but he had to know.

For a while, Arthur said nothing. Then, finally, "He is a threat to my kingdom."

"You want revenge," Merlin stated. It wasn't a question.

Arthur's gaze was cold, angry. "And if I do?"

"Perhaps he didn't mean to kill your father," Merlin murmured, even when a voice in his head screamed for him to _stop_, to _be quiet_. "Perhaps he made a mistake."

"You sound as though you know him, Merlin."

"I don't," the servant lied, heart hammering. "But you never gave him a chance. You never–"

"It is not your place to question me," Arthur said, voice dangerous and low.

Merlin looked submissively down at the frayed edges of his blanket and mumbled, "I'm sorry." Even through the apology meant nothing, even though Arthur knew it wasn't an apology at all.

After a long and tedious stretch of silence, Arthur asked, "You were the one who lead me to him."

"Yes," Merlin replied, trying not to show his unease.

"Do you know where he is now?"

"No."

"Merlin, if I find you're keeping this information from me–"

"I don't know where he is."

"Perhaps Gaius will then." There was something threatening in Arthur's voice, an unspoken challenge. "He knew the sorcerer, did he not?"

"No, he didn't. He knew _of _him," Merlin stammered.

"If I questioned him–"

"No, you don't–" Merlin steadied himself with a deep breath.

"Whatever you're hiding, whoever you're protecting, it's–"

Merlin looked at him indignantly, forcing his frustration forward and his panic down. It wasn't fair; he was sick and injured and a little too sorry for himself, and Arthur, knowing all of this, was taking advantage of it. "I'm not hiding anything!"

"Then _why_–?"

"Because he made a _mistake_, Arthur! Emrys is not your enemy!"

Arthur was silent for a moment. His expression was both cold and calculating, but beyond the icy exterior Merlin thought he saw remorse in the King's eyes and, worst of all, betrayal. "So you do know him."

"No," Merlin said confidently, ignoring his fear. "I knew of him, but I'd never met him before he tried to save your father."

"I never saw you with him," Arthur murmured. "I was never aware that you met."

Merlin swallowed, scrambling desperately for a reply to that, but Arthur spoke before he could, "Did you speak to him, when he was in Camelot?"

Unsure of just what to do, and guilt still sitting heavily in his stomach after the lies he had told Gwaine, Merlin found himself nodding.

"Did you let him escape?"

"No, Arthur. Of course not."

Arthur looked unsure. "I won't punish you, if you did."

Merlin remained silent.

"Where is he, Merlin?" Arthur asked, quiet, solemn.

"I don't know."

"If I have to search every village, every house," Arthur said dangerously. "If I have to scourer Camelot, and every kingdom beyond, I will. I will find him, Merlin."

Merlin, despite his fear, could not help but feel angry. Betrayed, even. Why would Arthur do this? With each day he spent huddled up buy the fire with only Gwaine and his lies to keep him company, the pain of just what Arthur had planned for him, for Emrys, deepened, until it was almost unbearable. And so he looked Arthur straight in the eye, despite his pain, despite his fear, and told him stubbornly, "Then scourer every kingdom."

The sound of the door slamming echoed through Merlin's mind until Gwaine returned to keep him company.

That night, in the depths of his dreams, Merlin saw Arthur tearing apart every village in Albion in search of Emrys. He burnt houses, destroyed crops, threatened anyone who stood in his way – he was unstoppable. It was the second Great Purge.

When morning came, he couldn't help but wonder if Uther had won all along. If magic would never be free while a Pendragon claimed the throne.

He knew he had a decision to make. Was now the right time to tell Arthur about his magic?

* * *

Gauis served him breakfast (apparently sent from the kitchens by Arthur, who despite yesterday's argument still seemed intent on providing Merlin with nearly every comfort in Camelot, perhaps because he felt guilty or responsible for what had happened in the forest – or, Merlin feared, so that he would feel so ungrateful for all these rather unnecessary gifts that he would outright admit to the King that he knew who Emrys was and where, exactly, the sorcerer was hiding) while telling him merrily that his fever had broken. Merlin forced a smile, but he was still caught somewhere between his nightmares and the thoughts of Arthur's possible plan of persuading him into confessing through such shallow means as giving him chairs and food, and while it was good news he could find much of a reason to be pleased.

Arthur's words rung clearly through his mind. _If I have to search every village, every house; if I have to scourer Camelot, and every kingdom beyond, I will. I will find him, Merlin. _The King was ready to tear apart the entire kingdom in search of Emrys. He would put innocent lives at risk for one man – one man he would not find. Not if he thought Emrys was outside of Camelot. Not if he thought Emrys was anywhere but by his side.

And yet Merlin sensed he would search everywhere, would do anything, for one sorcerer. For revenge, perhaps, or out of hatred, he was not so sure. But whatever his reasons were, there was going to be casualties because of it – consequences none of them wanted to face. And it would be Merlin's fault, if he let it happen.

Merlin, unable to stay quiet any longer, let his stoop fall into his almost empty bowl and nervously picked at the loose pieces of thread on the sling that bound his right arm and shoulder. Gaius looked at him expectantly.

"Do you think I should tell Arthur?" Merlin asked quietly.

Gauis put his own spoon down, a conflicted look crossing his aged face, before answering with a gentle and rather tired, "No, Merlin."

"If I lead him to the charcoal hut," Merlin reasoned. "I could change into Emrys and–"

"And what, Merlin? Allow Arthur to arrest you, to execute you?" Gaius demanded.

"It's better then letting him harm innocent people!"

Gaius raised an eyebrow at him. "Do you believe that he will?"

"I don't know what he'll do," Merlin said. "He won't listen to me."

"Arthur is a good and merciful King. You must trust him to make the right decision."

"And if he doesn't? I could stop this all."

"Merlin, you are far from recovered," Gaius snapped. "You cannot go gallivanting about the forest with Arthur in search of yourself."

"Why not?" Merlin huffed.

Gaius let out a frustrated sigh. "The ageing spell alone would do nothing to improve your condition. And I doubt that you will be able to ride a horse for at least a month."

"Then I'll walk."

"What will you do if Arthur arrests you?"

"If I can convince him that he's succeeded in executing me, then he will end his search," Merlin explained. "There must be a spell – something that would allow me to fake my death, at least for a short while."

"Arthur fully intends to use the restraints I am supposedly researching," Gaius said. "I have witnessed firsthand their affects, Merlin. You would barely be able to function while bound by them, let alone cast a spell of such power."

"Then tell Arthur they don't exist. Tell him you know where Emrys is and you know that he is willing to give himself up." Merlin got to his feet, thrown off-balance by the sudden movement because of the lingering affects of his blood loss and fever, but managing to regain his footing quite quickly, and made for the door. "I have to do this, Gaius."

"Merlin–"

Before the old physician could convince the boy otherwise, he was out the door and heading for the King's chambers.

* * *

Many people in the castle had heard of his condition and, upon seeing him wondering about the palace still too pale and thin, bandaged and bruised, earned him a few concerned look from the knights and servants alike. Some stopped him to wish him well, whereas others questioned skeptically whether he should be up and about so soon after what had happened (to which he assured them he was perfectly all right). It took him much longer than he anticipated to reach Arthur's chambers.

This part of the palace was the most familiar to him. He spent nearly all of his time in Arthur's chambers or walking these corridors that he barely had to think about where he was going, but when he finally arrived at the door he hesitated, and stood staring at the wood. What would he say to Arthur? That he had been lying, that he did know Emrys, the man he believed to have killed his father? And what if Arthur refused to be lead to Emrys and instead demanded that, if he was so willing to give himself up, he came to Camelot?

He would have to tell Arthur the truth. That would be the simplest way. It would end it all in an instant. But Merlin knew Arthur was not himself, that he was acting out in revenge. He had always imaged the moment he would finally tell the King everything would be quiet, peaceful, in one of the rare moments of calm they got between saving and running the kingdom. And, while Arthur might be hurt and confused, their friendship would be strong enough to survive the truth. Because they were friends, and friends accepted one another for everything that they were. And Merlin was magic.

But Arthur was angry and hurt, and Merlin wasn't sure now was the right time. What if the King acted out in fury and did have him executed? What if there was no spell to save him from the flames? The horrific scenarios, each one worst than the last, played over in his mind.

He thought of the Great Purge, of his nightmares. What if history was set to repeat itself? What if this was Destiny's true plan all along? There were too many questions and too little answers, and the only thing he was sure of was that, somehow, Arthur needed to be stopped.

And if that meant revealing the truth, then so be it.

With a deep breath, he pushed open the doors.

* * *

**A/N: **I know, I'm mean. Don't update in ages, and then leave you waiting for the (possible) reveal. I'm sorry, really. (Though I have an excuse! I wrote a post 5x13 one-shot, so if you want to check it out, it's on my profile! :D )

But the good news is, I know exactly where this fic is going, so I should hopefully no longer be so stuck when it comes writing the chapters. However, I can't promise faster chapters, but I will try to have them up as soon as possible, all being well. If any of you are confused as to what, exactly, is going on, it will all be explained soon enough ;)

Feed back is much appreciated :)


	11. Chapter Eleven

**A Master of Two Servants: **Morgana uses the fomorroh to manipulate Arthur into hunting down and killing Emrys. Little do they know the man they are both searching for is much closer than they think … AU of 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Warnings: **gore and violence. Spoilers up to and for 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Disclaimer: **Merlin is not mine. It belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

A Master of Two Servants

Chapter Eleven

Slowly, quietly, Merlin closed the doors behind him, and stood with his back to the King, eyes closed and hands shaking, even when he heard Arthur's chair scrape across the flagstones and his footsteps growing louder, closer.

"Merlin," Arthur demanded. "What is the matter with you?"

Merlin turned, slowly, to face his King.

"Arthur, there's, um, something–I need to–you should–I–" Merlin forced himself to take a deep breath. "I think you better sit down."

The King stared at him for a moment, as if bemused by what he was hearing, and then begun to laugh. "You're telling me to _sit down_? Merlin, I am the King of Camelot, if I want to _sit down_, I will very well decide to do it myself. Now spit it out: what has you behaving like a flustered girl this time?"

"I'm not behaving like a flustered girl," Merlin countered, frowning. "There is just something I need to tell you. And I think it would be best if you didn't fall over when I do."

"Despite what you might thing, _Mer_lin, some of us can stand on our two feet without tripping over them," Arthur retorted. Merlin remained quiet. "Come on, I haven't got all day."

Merlin's frown deepened, but he kept his mouth stubbornly shut. Arthur glared at him for a moment, before heaving a sigh and making a rather pointless fuss of sitting back down at his desk. When he was firmly seated, he gave Merlin, who was now standing nearer to the desk (but still far enough away that if Arthur decided to throw something at him, he would have plenty of time to duck) a look as if to say, _there, happy now?_

"Just this once, I want you to listen to me," Merlin started, head and heart pounding in sickening unison. "I _need _you to listen to me."

Merlin paused again. Arthur rolled his eyes and growled, "I'm _listening_, Merlin."

"I've kept my secret for far too long," Merlin continued. "From you, from the knights – perhaps even from myself. It has weighed down on my conscience for longer than I dare think, and I have recently come to the realization that there is no such thing as the 'right time' to tell you the truth. So I want you to listen–" Arthur gave another exaggerated eye roll. Merlin ignored him. "–_Really _listen. If there is one conversation I want you to remember in the years to come, it is this one, whether you chose to accept me after what I am about to tell you or not."

Merlin sucked as much air as he could into his lungs, although it did little to calm his frayed nerves. Arthur tapped his fingers impatiently against the tabletop, eyebrows raised patronizingly. That was _not _helping.

"Arthur, I have–"

Then, before he could_ finally_ reveal the truth, the doors flew open.

* * *

Gwaine had been watching Arthur for days. From the moment the King had visited Merlin for the first time, just before the servant had awoken, he knew there was something different about him – something _wrong_.

Every now and then, he wondered if the Arthur they'd returned to Camelot with was a different man to the one they had once known. There was a glint in his eyes, a new presence about him, that made Gwaine wonder just what had happened during his brief stay with the mercenaries. Perhaps there had been more to the story, more than Arthur would say. Perhaps the King didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to admit that it happened, whatever 'it' was.

Other times, Gwaine thought maybe it was the guilt. Arthur blamed himself for too many things, whether they were his fault or not – Lancelot's death, Morgana's betrayal, Merlin's run-in with the Dorocha. Gwaine knew that Arthur had been suffering, wrongly, with his guilt for quite some time now, and Merlin's latest brush with death was surely doing nothing to dampen the blame he felt.

But there was something more to it. Gwaine sensed that it wasn't as simple as it seemed (nothing ever was, when it came to Arthur and Merlin) – that maybe he'd been correct all along, and they _had _bought a different man back to Camelot.

He wanted to believe he was just being paranoid. Yes, Arthur was notorious for getting himself into all sorts of trouble. But possession and body-swapping was a whole new branch of madness, one he was sure none of them wanted to explore.

Still, anything could happen in Camelot. Life was never boring, but it had become increasingly over-complicated since his initiation into knighthood. And if it turned out Arthur _was _possessed, or not Arthur at all – and, of course, when they had found a way to get their old King back – he was going straight to the tavern to _under_-complicate things for a few days (at least, until the next befuddling threat popped up), because he was well and truly going to lose his mind if not.

At least Merlin, frustrating as the servant's clever dodging of the truth may be, gave him an outlet of sorts. Even if they both talked nonsense for the sake of hiding the truth – or trying, desperately, to find it, in Gwaine's case – it meant that he had something to do with his day, other than drink or worry about whatever wonderfully weird plan Camelot's enemies had come up with this time, and Merlin was, at least for a short while, more compliant when it came to taking his medicine and continuing to rest after their rather fruitless talks.

Perhaps today they would finally reach some sort of conclusion. After all, if Gwaine was right and Merlin not only had magic, but was also responsible for each lucky escape they'd made over the years, then his suspicions about Arthur may just lead to the reveal he'd been waiting for. Surely, Merlin wouldn't hesitate to use his magic to help Arthur – and Gwaine was most definitely _not _going to let him save the day alone this time.

He hadn't expected to find a rather worried looking Gaius ambling somewhat aimlessly about the room and Merlin nowhere in sight, upon his arrival at the physician's quarters. But, of course, nothing surprised him these days, even Merlin's ability to get himself into trouble even while injured and ill.

"Gaius," he said, with a slight sigh. "Where is Merlin?"

"Making a grave mistake, I fear," Gauis replied quickly. "He intends to tell Arthur the truth."

Gwaine's eyebrows shot up. "The truth?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Gwaine. You've known for quite some time now."

_Suspected_, actually. There had always been something about Merlin, but he had always found it confusing and somewhat frightening that he would go against Arthur in such a way, by practicing magic. Merlin was unafraid to challenge Arthur, time and time again; their relationship far more than that of a servant and master. But to practice magic right under the King's nose was far more of an insult than any words could ever be, and far more dangerous than any kind of defiance. It was a death sentence. It was the most stupid, foolish, ridiculous thing Gwaine ever thought possible. Yet it made sense. It made so much sense, when it came to Merlin. Because Merlin was exactly that – stupid, foolish, ridiculous… and so kind and loyal and brave that no amount of magic could ever change or corrupt him, and if Arthur thought it could, then he was the one who deserved to be punished. Gwaine had always known that.

So he didn't correct Gaius. "Where is he now?"

"I presume he has gone to Arthur's chambers."

"Why didn't you stop him?" the knight exclaimed. "Arthur wants his head! What kind of delusional _idiot _is he? Is he completely _out of his mind_?!"

Later, he would realize he sounded exactly like Arthur and would, of course, want to punch himself in the face for acting in such a pompous and pratish manner. But he was angry that Merlin hadn't told him, angry that Arthur was so suddenly hell-bent on hunting down the very man who'd saved their lives more times than he wanted to think about, and so very scared that if he didn't act imminently then he would be witnessing his friend's execution. And so he stormed out of the door, announcing brashly that he was going to "save Merlin's neck", before storming down the familiar corridors and towards the King's chambers.

By now, he was well-known enough that upon seeing him storming through the corridors, the servants and knights alike parted parted almost instantly and, when he reached Arthur's chambers and kicked the doors open, the guards down the hall did not so much as bat an eyelid.

"Merlin!" Gwaine exclaimed, striding inside to find Arthur glaring at him and Merlin facing away from him, shoulders tense, as if he knew just why the knight was here. "Just the man I wanted to see!"

Merlin, looking far paler than was healthy, turned slightly to face Gwaine. A nervous smile swept his features. "Gwaine," he greeted unenthusiastically.

"What is it, Gwaine?" Arthur snapped impatiently, heaving a sigh. "Merlin here has something _important _to tell me and, as I have already pointed out to him, I do not have all day."

Gwaine closed the doors and strode towards Merlin, throwing an arm around the servant's shoulder, careful to avoid his injured shoulder and maintain his too-wide smile as he did so. "Important business to attend to, I'm afraid, princess. I'm going to need Merlin for the day, if you can cope without him."

"Important business? If you mean the tavern–"

"Of course not." Gwaine grinned innocently. "Why would you think that?"

Arthur raised his shoulders, feigning bafflement.

"Well, if you don't mind, we must be going," the knight said, attempting to drag Merlin back to the door, but the servant was stubborn.

"Arthur, I need to–" Merlin begun.

"_I _haven't got all day either, Merlin!" Gwaine called.

"Gwaine." Merlin's eyes found his, wide and begging. He _needed _to do this. He had to tell the truth. "Please."

Gwaine shook his head frantically. "Merlin, I don't think–"

"Arthur," Merlin said, spinning on his heels before Gwaine could stop him. "I have–"

"The destination of Emrys!" Gwaine shouted suddenly, eyes widening almost as soon as he'd realized just what excuse he'd come up with, but unable to stop himself from blabbering on, "Merlin here knows where Emrys is, don't you, mate?"

Merlin gaped at him, panicked. Gwaine sensed that was the worst thing he could have said – or it was at least a close second, beaten only by "Merlin has magic." At least he hadn't said _that_.

Arthur was on his feet, eyes blazing. "You _know_?"

"No, I–well, not exactly," Merlin stammered. "Well, _yes_, I suppose, but–"

"You lied to me," Arthur snarled, rounding the desk. "I asked if you knew, and you _told _me–"

Gwaine put his hand out to stop Arthur before he reached Merlin. "Arthur," he cautioned.

"–That you didn't know, that I would have to scour every kingdom."

"Arthur," Gwaine said again, when the King did not back away.

"_You lied to me_!" Arthur bellowed, and both Gwaine and Merlin shrunk back at his words. Neither of them had ever heard Arthur yell in such a way – not even Merlin, who was perhaps the only person to have seen the King at his angriest.

"And he is telling the truth now," Gwaine snapped, recovering from the outburst faster than Merlin had. "He is telling you the truth now, Arthur, and if you don't listen to him then you will never find Emrys!"

Arthur's cold glare turned to the knight. "Did you know too?"

Gwaine glanced at Merlin and nodded, hoping to avert some of the blame.

Arthur sighed irately. "Of course you did."

Merlin and Gwaine stood as still as statues, waiting for Arthur's next move. They watched as he took a seat at his desk and, when both of them failed to say anything, snapped, "Well, do you want to keep your heads? Where is Emrys?"

"I cannot tell you the direct location, sire," Gwaine said, taking a brave step forward. Arthur's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "But I can take you there."

He could feel Merlin's eyes on the back of his head, but Gwaine kept his eyes locked with Arthur's. The King stared back, as if contemplating his offer, before shaking his head.

"No." Arthur's eyes flickered to Merlin. "_Merlin_ will take me there."

Merlin opened and closed his mouth helplessly, excuses eluding him. Thankfully, Gwaine stepped in. "Merlin is still recovering. He needs to rest, and he most certainly won't be able to ride. _I _will take you there."

"That won't be necessary. You have duties to attend to," Arthur argued. "Merlin, on the other hand, is my servant. He need only attend to me."

"He needs to rest. He's _injured_."

"The kingdom must come first, Gwaine."

"What is _wrong _with you?" Gwaine hissed. "There is no way Merlin can take you to Emrys in his state. _I _will take you, or you can damn well find him yourself."

"You will not disobey me, Gwaine."

"I will do whatever I damn well want!"

"I am the _King_, you cannot–"

"Stop!" Merlin cried, before either of them could get another word in. "I don't need to take you to Emrys. I can tell you exactly who he is."

"Go on then!" Arthur barked.

"Merys," Gwaine cut in, yet again. "His true name is Merys, and I know exactly where he is. If you want to find him, then _I _will take you there. Otherwise, you might as well forget we ever mentioned it."

Arthur's steely gaze flickered between the nervous pair, slowly contemplating his options. Merlin and Gwaine stared resolutely back at him. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the King inclined his head slightly.

"We depart at dawn, Gwaine," he said, before returning to his desk. "Leave me. I don't want to see either of you until then."

They nodded nervously and left the King to his thoughts.

* * *

Morgana was waiting for him in the Darkling Woods, hidden under the shadows of the night. Even from afar, Agravaine could see that see the impatience in her stance, the ruthlessness in her eyes that made him wish that he hadn't come at all, but he forced himself forward, to where she stood.

"I trust the hunt for Emrys is well and truly underway?" she questioned, as soon as he had come to a stop in the clearing.

"Merlin appears to have confided in Sir Gwaine," Agravaine replied. "The knight will lead us straight to him."

She nodded approvingly. "Arthur has left you charge of the kingdom?"

"Of course."

"Then we must prepare," Morgana continued. "All will be in place by the time our dear King returns."

"Yes, my lady," Agravaine agreed. "Have the knights bowed down to you yet?"

"They have been stubborn, as I suspected. But in time, it should not be hard to subdue them."

"Then Camelot is within our reach."

"Indeed, Agravaine." He could see Morgana's twisted smirk underneath her hood, illuminated by the moon's silver light. "Now go. We have an invasion to see to."

Agravaine bowed to the soon-to-be-Queen. When he rose, Morgana had vanished.

He was quick in returning to Camelot. If Morgana was going to reclaim the throne, then there was no time to waste.

* * *

**A/N: **more of Gwaine's half-baked plan in the next chapter, as well as (hopefully) the knights, for those of you who were wondering where they've gotten to.

Feedback is much appreciated :)


	12. Chapter Twelve

**A Master of Two Servants: **Morgana uses the fomorroh to manipulate Arthur into hunting down and killing Emrys. Little do they know the man they are both searching for is much closer than they think … AU of 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Warnings: **gore and violence. Spoilers up to and for 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Disclaimer: **Merlin is not mine. It belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

A Master of Two Servants

Chapter Twelve

"Are you _drunk_?"

"Are you delusional?" Gwaine countered, as soon as he had slammed the door and paced angrily into Gaius' quarters. "Has your fever returned? Why would you even _think_ about telling Arthur now? He's all but turned into Uther – and the man only died a few months ago, I'm sure you haven't forgotten about his tyrannical ways just yet!"

"That's why I have to stop him!"

"And what if he killed you? I doubt, at a time like this, he's going to suddenly change his mind when he finds out you've been lying to us all about your magic!"

Merlin swallowed, and looked away. "Gwaine–"

The knight shook his head, massaging his forehead and taking a seat in a nearby chair. "I'm sorry; I shouldn't have said that."

"No, don't be sorry. You're right," Merlin muttered wearily, sitting down also. Their anger dwindled in unison, replaced by regret and contemplation and guilt. "I've been lying to you all, and I need to make it right. It might not change his mind, but I'd like to think that–that he'd listen, at least. And if he decides to execute me… well, I would die knowing that Arthur finally knew who I really was, and that I'd done everything I could to stop him from turning into his father."

"I understand... even if you do seem to have an unhealthy ambition of becoming a martyr." Gwaine sighed bitterly at that thought, furious and guilty and sad, all at once. "But do you really think Arthur finding out you have magic is going to make everything better? Eventually, he might come around, but he trusted you. You're his friend, and after Morgana… he's not himself. He may well do something we'll all regret."

"What do you think the mercenaries told him?"

"I don't know," Gwaine replied, picking up a nearby phial and turning it over in his hands distractedly. "I'm not convinced he was with the mercenaries at all."

"What do you mean?"

Gwaine put the concoction down, raising his eyes to meet Merlin's wide ones. "He's been acting strangely ever since he returned to Camelot – saying things, doing things that I know Arthur wouldn't, at least not in his right mind."

"I sensed something strange about him, in his chambers."

"Something magical?"

"I don't know."

"What if he wasn't with the mercenaries?"

"Why would he lie?"

"Maybe he's under an enchantment."

Merlin paled in realization. "Morgana."

"But she's–_Arthur _said she was dead, and he's…"

"…Most probably enchanted," Merlin finished. "I knew she was up to something."

"Why would she fake her own death?"

"To hide whatever she's up to? If she attacked now, it would certainly be unexpected." Merlin paused. "I think she wants Emrys out of the way."

"For what? Another invasion?"

"Maybe. Whatever she's doing, it's taking a lot of magic – I can feel the spell, but I can't tell what it's for."

"Do you think you could find what kind of enchantment Arthur's under? Maybe _he_ can tell us what Morgana is up to."

"I'll need to be in the same room as him."

"Arthur seemed quite sure that he didn't want to see either of us until tomorrow."

"And when have I ever listened to him?" Merlin grinned. "The sooner I find out what enchantment he's under, the sooner I can undo it."

"You're certain you can?" Gwaine questioned. Merlin gave a certain enough (though not completely confident) nod. "And what are we going to do about… _Merys_?"

Merlin paused half way across the room, turning slowly to face the knight and giving him a look of baffled, though perhaps reluctant, amusement – and Gwaine half expected the servant to inform him, rightly, that this was all _his _fault, and therefore _he _should be the one to deal with it, and stared back with a look of questioning concern. Then, less expectedly, Merlin smiled as broadly as he did when telling him that no, going to the tavern was not a good idea, but he was coming along anyway. And within moments, despite the impending threat of invasions and enchantments and _Morgana_, they were laughing the way they did after a few tankards of mead.

"Merys?"

"It was the first thing that came to mind!"

"Well, it's certainly… imaginative." Merlin sobered slightly, reaching forward to open the door. "I'll deal with it. I have–a plan."

"Good luck. And… thank you."

He was thankful that Merlin had yet again saved him from his own stupidity, but that wasn't what he was expressing his gratitude for this time, not really. There was more to it than that – what was unspoken, the _I know who you really are_, the _I know what you've done for us all_, lingered below the surface, but it was louder, almost, than the words themselves. And Merlin smiled bashfully, ducking his head slightly.

"Thank _you_, Gwaine," Merlin replied.

Gwaine grinned brilliantly at him. "Anything for a friend."

Merlin nodded. "Anything for a friend."

And, as they would soon discover, no truer words had been exchanged between the pair.

* * *

As usual, the palace kitchens were loud and busy, far too hot and crowded and a proper nuisance to navigate one's way around at this time of day. Now that autumn had arrived, bringing the cooler weather with it, and robbing the trees of their dying leaves, most of the Lords and Ladies of the palace ate with the setting sun. And as the last light of the day crawled through the windows, low now, but a vivid and striking red against the lazy, hazy purples of the sleepy sky, it was near impossible to get his own master's dinner, even with more experience than all of Arthur's previous manservants combined.

The cook was as red as the apples the maids were frantically adding the watery sauce, in an attempt to add flavor to what looked, and most probably tasted, like a bland bowl of oddly colored porridge, while the younger, less-experienced kitchen boys scrambled about like mice, gathering all the wrong ingredients for a chicken stew and jumping every time Audrey waved her ladle at them. One plate, piled with what was most probably an undercooked attempt at chicken pie, made by one of the many new employers Guinevere had placed in the kitchens for initiation, was placed aside and Merlin scooped it up before another servant had the chance, rushing through the frantic crowds of both new and old servants before any of them could ask him to show one of the new members of staff how to use a cooking pot, or what an onion looked like. On any other mostly ordinary day, he would have been happy to help, but he had already been delayed almost seven hours trying to communicate with Kilgharrah, who must've been having another difficult day with Aithusa, and then convincing Gaius that he was well enough to go through with his plans, and Arthur needed un-enchanting _now_, whether or not he had to feed the King half-baked pie to do so.

Sometimes, it would have been so much easier if the staff just knew that had was rather busy trying to save Camelot all by himself (well, at least while Kilgharrah was dealing with a certain bad-tempered young dragon a good few leagues away), and would simply consider leaving him be while he was doing it. Recently, all he had thought of was how _liberating _it would be to have not just his fellow servants, but the whole of Camelot to know, and to accept him – for Arthur, most of all, to change his ways and believe, truly, that magic was a force for good. But it was wistful thinking, and he was starting to think Gwaine was right in worrying his fever had returned. Now was most definitely not the right time to reveal his magic.

He reached Arthur's chambers in what felt like the blink of an eye, his mind occupied while foolish thoughts while his feet took him down the route he knew best, and with one quick knock (that, in hind sight, probably would have startled the King more than not knocking at all) he barged his way inside.

The two occupants had stopped their conversation abruptly, turning quickly to look at him. Agravaine was closest to the door, while Arthur again sat at his desk, eyes narrowing somewhat when he saw who had so rudely entered his chambers.

"Thank you, Agravaine. That will be all."

Agravaine bowed slightly, a brief and informal duck of his head, before walking swiftly to the door. His dark eyes caught Merlin's before he left, and the servant had no doubt that the Lord was in on this all – and, from the twisted glint in his eyes, knew more about _him_ than he first thought. Just how implicated in this was he all? Was it possible that Agravaine already knew who he was? That _Arthur _already knew who he was?

Dread sinking into his stomach, Merlin took a hesitant towards Arthur's desk, pie-piled plate already half-balanced on the table when the King held up his hand and stood, chair scraping threateningly along the floor. Merlin froze, back straight and crawling with shivers, as Arthur paced to his bed, where his sword, the one he had used at training and had yet to be retrieved by another servant, had been placed. They stood in silence, when Arthur's heavy footsteps ceased, and waited.

"I thought I said," Arthur said, slowly. "That I didn't want to see you."

With his back turned to Arthur, he let his magic – desperate to be free, yet as uncertain as he felt, standing there – flow freely through his body. It buzzed within his chest, the bruises numbing once more, and the fatigue he had felt throughout his recovery giving way to a feeling of strength and courage. And then, as though satisfied that it had done its duty to him, it burst free from his palms and sailed towards where Arthur stood, sheathed sword now in hand.

"And you know," Merlin replied, distracted by the rejuvenating feeling of his magic buzzing around him, golden and pure as the last rays of the sun as it set; mighty as any sword, yet gentle as the lingering summer breeze. "That I never follow orders."

If the King felt any change in the air, he didn't show it. From his position at the desk, Merlin heard him draw his sword from its sheath, and while his magic gathered around him like a shield, able, of course, to protect him from any simple sword such as the one Arthur was currently turning over in his hands, his heart was flailing wildly in his chest.

"Why are you here?" Arthur demanded, hand tightening around the sword.

His magic encompassed Arthur now, swirling from the scuffed toes of his boots to the messy hairs on his head. "Because I need you to _listen to me_."

"We've already had this conversation today, Merlin."

Merlin waited, closing his eyes and allowing himself to simply feel his magic at work. It was everywhere around them, in the very air they breathed, popping and bubbling as though it was new to the world, and seeing it all for the very first time. With a smile, he let it swallow them whole.

"_Merlin_," Arthur snapped. "Are you listening to me?"

_Arthur_. Of course. There was a purpose to his visit here. He focused his energy solely on Arthur, now that the King appeared to be sufficiently distracted. His magic was now so incredibly familiar to Arthur that he did not so much as put up a fight. And magic, his magic, was no longer Arthur's armor, clasped tightly around his body like the looping metal threads of mail, but rather deep beneath his skin, a branch of his soul, stretching deeper, searching for another enchantment, another stem of his friend's subconscious that did not belong there.

And then, as a single snap of a twig can disturb an entire forest, something changed, and he jerked with the force of it, like a bird startled into flight. He didn't realize that he clung to the desk, that his knuckles had gone white, until splinters begun to dig into his curled fingers. His legs shook, and his magic wavered, and then he was being pulled backwards, into an oblivion Arthur himself appeared to have created.

There was nothing but a never-ending expanse of darkness, an abyss that he feared he would never leave, in front of him, Arthur's chambers having disappeared into the shadows, somewhere far out of his reach. His body, far away, shivered as though sensing the emptiness, however distant it was, but he did not feel the jerk of his muscles. Here, he was weightless, supported by a force so very different to the one that weighed him down in their mortal world. Here, he felt like nothing but a speck of dust, throw to the Fates for their pleasure, detached from himself and tangled up in the unknown.

If he had much of a presence within his own body, he feared he would have been sick. How could Arthur have created such a prison?

"What are you doing?" he heard Arthur demand, from the other world, the real world. "Merlin? Merlin! Answer me!"

_You did this_, he wanted to scream_. This is you!_

The voice died away, and there was nothing but silence. Silence and emptiness and darkness. He was trapped, confided, locked up and never to escape. And Arthur had done this. Arthur was doing this to him, he was–

"Merlin?" another voice called out. "Merlin, what are you doing here? How–calm down, would you? I can feel–what–_how_?"

That voice, filled with a mix of incredulity, relief and wonder, was somehow more familiar than the one that had called to him before. More whole, more _real_, more Arthur. Never quite speechless, because he was King of Camelot, but halfway there whenever his manservant was involved. This was the Arthur he knew.

"Where are we?" Merlin gasped, and wondered if an unearthed mirror of one's being had the capacity for illness.

"I–I don't know what to call it," Arthur murmured. "You shouldn't be here. You need to leave, now, before–"

"Well, I am here, dollophead," he snapped, wishing desperately that he could see Arthur through the darkness. In the distance, he thought he saw gold, but it blinked out as quickly as it had appeared. "Wherever _here_ is. And I don't know how to get out."

"You managed to find your way here. Forgive me for thinking you would at least know your way out."

"Nope. Afraid not."

"Listen to me–"

Merlin thought he was squinting. Although he wasn't quite sure of anything, really. He could feel only his soul – magic, in his purest form, different and yet so very familiar with the one it had currently merged with. "Can you see me?"

"Yes. Well, I suppose. Sort of. Now I need you to–"

"I can't–I can't see anything. Where are you?" Merlin couldn't help the quiver in his voice, the threads of fear woven so deeply into it that the blankness around him seemed to take the form of the shadows that had scared him as a child. Then, he had used his magic to conjure the same light that had led Arthur out of those caves, and convinced himself that they'd disappeared. Here, they wouldn't leave him be. "Where are you? Arthur?"

"I'm here." Arthur's voice was soft. More compassionate than usual. Caring, even. "I'm right here, Merlin. Now I need you to listen to me, all right? I don't know how you got here, but you need to leave _now_. Morgana isn't dead, and she–"

A ripple ran through them both, a deep feeling of wrongness that they could both feel, even while so separated from their bodies. It was as though they had been tied to one another by the string of an instrument, and someone had plucked it. The abyss pulsated around them, the void seeming to grow smaller.

"What was that?"

Merlin felt Arthur's anger as though it were his own. Fury consumed him, bled into the depths of his soul, and the feeling was so overwhelming that he had to fight not to scream.

"I'm sorry. I'm trying–I'm so sorry, Merlin," Arthur whispered. "There's no time. Get out of here now, and don't hesitate to… to do what you need to do."

"Wait. What has Morgana done to you?"

Before he got an answer, the golden speck was back, expanding like a dying star, painting the darkness with its light, and all he could see was gold – the gold of his eyes, the gold of magic. Then, he saw blue, and sorrow rather then strength, and Arthur was staring at him desperately, sadly, an apology written into the depths of his irises.

He tried to call out, but managed nothing more than a choke. In Arthur's chambers, he could feel himself returning. The pain in his chest had come back, and it seemed to have spread to his throat. He couldn't breathe, and the only coherent thought he could form was _hands_, as he tried desperately to push away the ones that had tightened around his throat.

Desperate, he kicked out his feet, aware that they no longer touched the floor. The hands tightened. It was dark here, too. Not as dark as it had been, but the shadows were ever expanding.

_Don't hesitate to do what you need to do. _Arthur had known. It was not him doing this, not really. Morgana had enchanted Arthur, as they feared. And she wanted him dead. With Emrys out of the way, Camelot – and Arthur – would be venerable. Her attack would be unexpected, but powerful. No one would see it coming.

Arthur – real Arthur – had known, and he had wanted him to do whatever it took.

As if acting on instinct, his magic reacted. The hands were gone, and they were both on the floor, Merlin gasping for breath and Arthur scrambling to regain his footing.

The gold had yet to fade from his eyes.

And Arthur had seen it all. Arthur _knew_.

He had been enchanted to find Emrys. And Emrys had revealed himself.

Now, all that was left was his final order.

_Kill Emrys_.

* * *

**A/N: **There is a reason why this part is out of sequence with Agravaine's little meeting with Morgana in the previous chapter. *spooky voice-over voice* _All will be explained soon enough... _

Again, sorry for the late update! And lack of promised knights. I did not expect to write this chapter like this. In fact, the reveal was supposed to come a lot later on. But you know what they say: when all else fails, PLOT TWIST. Okay, I am quite sure no one has said that. Ever. But it was on this list I found of ways to get rid of writers block... and it worked, I suppose.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**A Master of Two Servants: **Morgana uses the fomorroh to manipulate Arthur into hunting down and killing Emrys. Little do they know the man they are both searching for is much closer than they think … AU of 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Warnings: **gore and violence. Mentions of torture. Spoilers up to and for 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Disclaimer: **Merlin is not mine. It belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

A Master of Two Servants

Chapter Thirteen

It had been raining non-stop for weeks back then, all those years ago, Leon remembered; few people went outside during the storms, which seemed to rage on all summer, and it was a dark and dreary season, for one that was usually marked by heat and a high sun.

But it seemed fitting, after what events had befallen those dreadful months. Word had been brought back from the north not a month before the beginning of summer, bearing news of the fate of the men Sir Gorlois' had led into battle, and though Leon had known before joining the welcoming crowd in the streets, nothing had prepared him for the sight of the battered regiment stumbling into Camelot, their leader dead and gone, and Leon's own father missing from their ranks.

Months later, Camelot was as quiet as it had been then. Lady Vivienne had come and gone, sweeping into the city with a small, cloaked figure clutching desperately to her hand and leaving with nothing more than a horse and two men to escort her home, and would never be seen again – though no one was to know that then. But otherwise, Camelot had been mourning along with its King, unaware, of course, of just what had happened, but all too familiar with its losses.

He comforted his mother. Ensured that his siblings did nothing stupid in their grief. Made friends with the girl that lived in the lower town, whose name was Guinevere and whose mother had served his family faithfully for years, before her death in the colder, earlier months of that year. It was nice, to find someone who understood, someone he could talk to, but he still felt so… unfulfilled.

Despite the weather, training had continued, and he'd followed Geraint along in the rain, rather wishing Uther and his father hadn't decided to make him the second in command's apprentice. It was probably as difficult for Geraint as it was for him to have taken the position that was once Gorlois', and should have fallen to Sir Ector, Leon's father, should anything have happened to him, while the knight was still so young and inexperienced himself – but Leon remembered feeling such bitterness over it, at the time, and guilt that he could not find it in himself to be enthusiastic about the position that, when he had first been granted it the summer before, he thought was the best thing ever to happen to him.

But that day would be different to the other waterlogged sessions in which he parried with some of the other boys that were not yet old enough to be knights, or had yet to prove their aptitude to Geraint or Uther. Because standing in the middle of the training field when they arrived was Arthur, with a helmet so big it almost touched his shoulders balanced on his head and his father's favorite sword held in his small, wobbling hands. The young prince, only seven summers old, looked ready to topple over with the weight of the equipment he appeared to have pilfered from the armory, but stared determinedly up at Geraint and Leon through the slits in his helmet, a smile that was all cheek peeking out from underneath the metal, and would not move an inch even as the rest of the knights begun to practice around him.

It was true that Arthur had been trained since birth. Though, mostly, it was self-defense, and "to kill" was an exaggeration. The Prince had looked so young – short for his age, something Merlin and Gwaine had found oddly hilarious when Leon told him this very story a few months before – and harmless then, boots and clothes soaked through, too-big weapon swaying like a pendulum in his hands, that he and Geraint had been breathless with laughter by the time Arthur had declared, "I want to learn how to fight proper!"

Arthur was as stubborn then as he was now, and no amount of persuading could get him off the training field. Geraint was forced, in the end, to abandon his efforts so he could train the other knights, and had left Leon, who was only thirteen himself at the time, the job of getting the boy back inside before he caught a cold.

And Leon, despite having a reputation for his ability to persuade his younger brothers into doing almost anything, had simply said, "Nice sword."

"It isn't mine," Arthur replied, as though Leon had insulted the sword, gripping it tighter even when it rocked backwards and gently hit the top of his helmet.

"I know."

The boy's eyes had narrowed suspiciously. "How?"

"It's a little big." Leon grinned, thinking himself a genius, and held out his hand. "Here, give it to me and I'll find you a smaller one."

Arthur's eyes had narrowed so much Leon doubted he was able to see much at all. "_Morgana _stole my real sword."

Leon chuckled at the pouting Prince. Morgana, the King's ward, appeared to have been fitting in well among the Court (so much so that they wondered if she did not understand what had happened to her parents), but her relationship with Arthur was not quite as promising. She was three years older than Arthur, and knew exactly how to get her way with him.

"I'm not going to steal your sword."

"That's what Morgana said."

"I promise I'm not going to steal your sword."

"Morgana promised."

"Well, can I at least borrow your helmet?" Leon asked. "I need to go and train too, you see."

Arthur eyed him for a long moment, before relenting. "I suppose…" he said, then smiled widely, as if pleased to be helping a future knight of the realm, reaching up to remove his helmet and dropping his sword in the process. Leon swooped down to pick it up while the Prince tried, unsuccessfully, to lift the heavy helmet of his head.

"Having Morgana around will do you good," Leon declared, smirking. Then he turned his back on the Prince, feeling somewhat guilty but still quite accomplished, and marching off in the direction of the armory.

"Hey!" Arthur cried petulantly, and ran after him.

Uther had been waiting inside to take the Prince back to his chambers. Geraint had given him a pat on the back, and laughed heartily about the story with the rest of the knights – it was the first time, in a while, that they had done such a thing, but it felt good.

The next day, Arthur was on the training grounds again, sitting on the bench off to the side, this time without a helmet or a sword. Leon walked straight over to him, grinning.

"Morgana laughed at me all through dinner," he grumbled, bottom lip sticking out sadly. "And Father joined in!"

"I'm sorry," Leon said, trying his best not to laugh too. "I won't do it again, promise."

Arthur just crossed his arms over his little body and gave an indignant huff.

"How can I make it up to you?"

Arthur perked up almost instantly. "Teach me how to fight like a real knight!"

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"The King won't allow it. And he's the King."

"Fine." Arthur jumped of the bench (because his feet had not quite been able to the touch the floor when he was sitting on it) and, with one last dark look at Leon, stomped off with slumped shoulders and a quivering bottom lip.

Watching him go, Leon understood. Arthur was lonely.

And so, with knocking knees and shaking hands, he had asked Uther if it were possible for the Prince to train with him – nothing too dangerous, just enough to keep the boy happy. To his surprise, the King had agreed.

So the next day, he had sought Arthur out. Leon had found him in the throne room, where he sat glumly on the steps in front of the throne, elbows on knees and chin on palms.

"Go away," Arthur muttered.

"So you don't want me to teach you how to fight like a real knight?"

Arthur's face had light up, eyes wide. "You'll teach me?"

"If you stop stealing Morgana's things."

"I promise," Arthur blurted. "Now teach me everything!"

As it turned out, Arthur had a rather natural talent for fighting. It wasn't long before the other knights were hailing him as the future First Knight – a position awarded to the best, and most noble and courageous, knight in the realm, awarded by Uther himself. The possessor of such a title held power over all the knights in Camelot, and it was something all boys in Albion dreamed to be.

Even Leon had dreamed of the title. But it belonged to Arthur far more than it had ever belonged to him.

Time passed, and Leon found that he rather enjoyed mentoring the young Prince. It gave him a purpose and somehow, without them noticing, his family seemed to heal from Ector's loss, their wounds turning to scars, no longer as debilitating as they had once seemed. At sixteen, Leon was given his knighthood before the court and Arthur, who had just turned ten years old, had watched with a large smile, nudging Morgana throughout the ceremony as if to point out, _he's my friend_.

Things changed, of course, as was natural. Morgana grew older, and the loss of her parents seemed to finally hit her. She and Arthur had fought one night, as lightning and thunder battered the land outside, and she had revealed to the young boy that Ygraine had died in childbirth, and held him afterwards, when he had cried until he had fallen asleep. But that had been the Prince's last show of weakness. Knowledge changed them all.

Leon focused on being a knight. He still shadowed Geraint. They went into battle, returning mostly unscathed, but war had hardened them, and Leon matured. He didn't see Gwen often, as she had been granted the position of Morgana's maidservant and was busy with her duties. Morgana had changed too, growing feistier and more outgoing, unafraid to oppose Uther in the name of what she thought was right. She was kind and just all the same, just like Gorlois and Vivienne. Leon knew she wanted to make them proud – and he believed that, back then, she always had.

But it was Arthur who changed the most. He withdrew himself from those around him, as if afraid of what they thought, unaware that they had known the truth about his mother long before he did, and didn't blame him for what had happened. It seemed he was desperate to prove himself to Uther, not only because the King had grown harsher on him upon discovering his fighting ability, but also because he was afraid that if he did not show himself to be worthy, his father would begin blame him for what happened to his mother. Each time Leon returned from a patrol or battle, he found Arthur to be more arrogant and aloof than before – and an even better fighter, able to beat Leon in a duel by his fifteenth birthday. Arthur had grown cruel, cold even, and not at all like the ruler Leon had thought he would be. By sixteen, he was given the position of First Knight, and Leon had thought, to himself, that it was awarded on strength and courage (well, foolish carelessness, at the time) – not nobility.

Still, they were able to maintain their friendship, to some extent. They grew distant at times, only to become close again at others. Arthur understood duty and sacrifice, if nothing else, and they respected one another. Their friendship became more formal, but a friendship nonetheless, and that was enough for Leon. It struck him again, though, just how lonely Arthur was.

Then Merlin had come along, earned himself the position of Arthur's servant and, later, the position of Arthur's best friend. Merlin was noble, more noble than anyone Leon knew, and he helped Arthur to become the man Leon always wanted him to be.

There was more change. Gwen and Arthur fell in love. She taught him humility, showed him affection was not a bad thing – that love itself was liberating, and not something to shy away from out of fear. Merlin and Arthur grew closer. The Round Table was formed. Morgana turned against Camelot. Geraint gave up his position to him. Uther died. Camelot changed with them all, of course, and he swore his loyalty to Arthur's ways, to the New Age, knowing that the new King would make the kingdom a better place.

And no matter how much changed, Arthur had always been forgiving. He was never one to hold grudges. Leon had been forgiven the moment he promised to teach him everything, Morgana pardoned for revealing the true circumstances of Ygraine's death, and even Uther had been given his far share of clemency, whether he deserved it or not. Even now, Leon knew that Arthur maintained the notion that Morgana could be changed, pardoned again, if she showed remorse for what she had done, and if she would accept them in return. Leon thought that he had the same beliefs.

Until now. This Morgana they'd known – the Morgana who used to pull Arthur's hair and hide his armor when he needed it, but would reassure him whenever he had a nightmare, or comfort him when he would let her; the Morgana who had been compassionate, who had stood for justice and equality; the Morgana who was strong, when Destiny had dealt her a cruel hand; the Morgana they had _loved _– was gone. And the new Morgana, he could never forgive.

Never had he known pain like this. He had ridden into battle many times, watching his fellow knights killed around him, but having to fight on anyway, knowing that he could not save them; he had faced Hell with Arthur, fought for his kingdom with all that he had. For goodness sakes, he had survived the initiation into knighthood, which was a lot harder than one might think. And he had been trained for this, all of this. He had been prepared.

None of that mattered now, though. He was going to die here, in this prison, in the darkness and the emptiness, a hollow and shadowed place below a mountain he now believed was cursed, above a giant's grave that most certainly was a bad omen to anyone who trespassed. Why had they ever come here?

His only escape – the only escape he knew he would ever be granted – was in his memories. All too clearly, he saw what he was leaving behind, and it both haunted and comforted him through what he thought were the nights and presumed were the days, unnumbered and unending, because all that was left for him in reality was Morgana's torture, and a naïve wish for death.

"Reminiscing, Leon?" Morgana asked, the words sounding like a sigh.

On the other side of the bars (a precautionary method, he was sure, because he doubted he would be able to escape in the condition he was in), she sat in a chair that, in the flickering shadows of the few candles that lit up the large cave, looked like a less-expensive replica of Arthur's current throne. He wasn't sure how long she had been there, but it seemed that her disturbing vigil would continue now. Wherever she had gone, she had not taken her time, and now she was back to taunt him, with twisted smirk of hers. In her hands was the Mirror, shimmering in the candlelight, and he thought how it was the only thing more evil than her.

"Are you going to tell me you would have helped, if I'd asked?" she sneered, as though disgusted by the mere thought of it.

He was glad, almost, for the sudden clarity. For hours, at least, he had been lost in his delusions and dreams, and he was sure that he had been voicing his pain for the entirety of the time, judging by the roughness of his throat.

"No," he spat, voice strained as he struggled to move from his position on the floor and bit back a groan. "No, if… if I'd known what you'd become, I wouldn't so much as–as _speak _to you."

Pain – something else that can change a person. He knew what he was saying, how cruel and foreign the words sounded in his ears, and yet he could not hold them back, could not keep the calm, collected nature that he maintained in Camelot. This was what she wanted, of course, but he could not bring himself to care.

"Ah, so Arthur's foolish teachings on trust and forgiveness are not as widespread as I thought. How interesting."

He stayed quiet. There was nothing more he had to say to her.

"Tell me," she said, contemplatively. "What was I to you then?"

_There was nothing more he had to say to her. _

"Don't hold back on my behalf."

Again, he said nothing. She chuckled.

"I always did like you, Leon. You had a certain fire in you. And you never really support Uther, did you?" She went on anyway. "How does it feel to watch Arthur become his father? Is it just _torturous_?"

"Arthur will never become his father," he wheezed.

She grinned darkly. "I wouldn't be so sure about that, Leon. Now, what was I saying? Oh, yes. _Uther_. Well, you were not the only person that did not believe in his methods, were you? How many enemies he made! No one spoke up because they were afraid of what he would do to them, but Arthur…. Arthur is different. Arthur is trusting, and forgiving, and _weak_. The people don't fear him, and so if something is amiss – well, they won't hide in the shadows this time. And what is a kingdom worth, if the people in it do not trust their leader? Nothing, you say?"

So she was back to this – Uther and Arthur, and the people of Camelot's loyalty to them both. It seemed all she had done over the last days (months?) was speak, and try to twist his own loyalties.

Humming merrily, she turned the Mirror over in her hands. "I have such power over him. _We _have such power over him, I should say."

"I will _never _join you, Morgana."

"Careful. Don't go making promises you can't keep."

Leon glared at her through the metal bars.

"Don't be like that." Morgana leaned forward in the chair, eyes glistening in the soft hum of the candles. "I am sparing you – and your men, you'll be happy to know."

Desperate, a sudden spark of hope ignited in his chest, he tried to push himself upwards, but his arms collapsed beneath him, and he fell back to the cold floor, panting and moaning, forcing out the cold demand, "Where are they?"

"Not far. I'm sure they'd be able to hear you if you _screamed_."

"What do you _want_?" he hissed.

"Camelot, as you know," she replied. "And I'm sure you've guessed by now that you're going to help me get it. An army isn't all I need – you will fight, of course, if I need you to, but that is not your true purpose. It's all about keeping up appearances, you see."

He groaned, pressing his forehead against the cold stone floor.

"If the people of Camelot believe that you have sworn your loyalties to me, that Arthur has willingly given me the throne because I am a more worthy Queen, then they will accept me as such. And this–" Morgana continued, lifting the Mirror slightly. "–Is the key to it all. Have you ever heard of the Mirror of Duplication, Leon? No? The Mirror of Deception, perhaps?"

Leon made no indication as to whether he had or had not heard of such an object – it did sound oddly familiar, but he didn't voice his tumbling thoughts as he tried to locate just where he remembered the name from.

"It has many names and many powers, as you have been so kind as to demonstrate for me. The Mirror was all but worshipped in the days of old, for it gave the High Priests and Priestesses knowledge and power few could ever hope to achieve – so much power that, for thousands of years, an endless and bloody war was fought among the sorcerers who wished to harness it for themselves, and the Priests and Priestesses that lead them into battle.

They left a wasteland in the wake of their fruitless battles, and had nothing to show for their efforts, but destruction and death. They had destroyed themselves, and tainted the magic that remained on this earth. Their souls were trapped within the Mirror by the only remaining High Priestess, where they would stay for all eternity for their sins. Death would have been a mercy. But their souls, and their magic, lived on, trapped within this very Mirror.

After Priestess' death, the Mirror was passed onto her son. He was a mortal man, with little talent and meager intelligence, but brave and determined nonetheless, on the brink of death when he finally did arrive on Avalon's shores after years and years of wondering. Upon his final breath, he threw the Mirror into the waters, so that none could attempt to harness its power again, and was engulfed by the tides, granted passage into Avalon itself for his efforts.

The Mage dynasty lived on through the Mirror-bearer's many children, and the Old Religion soon enough rose from the ashes, only to be ruined once more by Uther not a thousand years later. The legends of the Mirror have long since been forgotten, many calling it nothing more than a myth, but they are wrong. Morgause herself retrieved it from the waters of Avalon, and gave it to me.

Even after so many years, it still possess the magic of a thousand sorcerers, the knowledge of a thousand ages, and a power the Gods themselves envy. And soon enough, it will all be mine."

Greed and desperation glimmered in Morgana's eyes. And Leon thought that had he seen the High Priests and Priestesses of old, who had led many men to their deaths for a simple Mirror and the almighty power it possessed, and allowed their land to fall to ruin in their conquests, they would have looked so very like her in that moment.

"That is where you come into it, Sir Leon. A ritual of sorts must be completed for the Mirror to answer to me fully. A mortal soul must be taken for each crystal that decorates the Mirror's frame – eighty, in total – so that my bond with the Mirror is solidified, and I can take what I need from the glass.

Your fellow knights, all of them, are within these very caves, but it is you specifically that I need to complete my task. Your connection with your dearest knights will enable me to break their spirits and take their souls in unison with yours. And you will have no choice but to answer to me, for I will have full power over each of you."

There was nothing he could do by lay there, staring at her through the bars. The caves were cold, but he didn't feel it. He didn't feel much of anything now, expect a dimming guilt that, in the end, it would be his fault that Camelot fell to Morgana.

Morgana was right. The Mirror had many powers. And in that moment, he realized, when his memories had abandoned him, and no hope remained for his fellow knights, it had broken him.

"You should get some rest, while you can. It will be a long time before you do so again."

And, with that devious promise, she was gone, sinking back into the shadows as though she hadn't been there at all.

* * *

"You have done well, Morgana," the Dochraid croaked. "Do you feel the Mirror's power in your soul?"

Morgana saw herself smile in the Mirror. "Yes. Yes, I can feel it now."

The Dochraid returned the grin – if it could be called such a thing. Morgana had gotten used to the creature now, having spent days with her in the caves, but she could not quite help her revulsion at the sight. "Soon, it will all be yours. You will rule over magic itself. Even Emrys will bow at your feet."

"Emrys will soon be dead, Great Dochraid. It is only a matter of time."

"Then you should rest as well," the Dochraid said, without acknowledging Morgana's certainty in Emrys' imminent demise. "The spell you must–"

Morgana had a hold of the Dochraid wrist an instant, repulsion forgotten as she sneered down at the old, blind creature. "What do you know?"

"Nothing that I have not already told you."

"What do you know about Emrys?" Morgana growled.

"He shall always be your doom," the Dochraid replied. "Dead or alive."

"You're wrong."

"I speak the truth."

"You're _wrong_!" Morgana screamed. "I will _destroy _him, and his magic will be _mine_!"

"Impossible. Such old magic cannot be harnessed. It comes from the earth itself."

A grin twisted Morgana's lips. "Like yours."

"Yes."

"Then it is not impossible at all."

Morgana's hand, the one that was not clinging to the Dochraid, snaked behind her, reaching for where she had placed the Mirror moments ago. Silently, she pulled it from the table and held it towards the Dochraid, who had tensed, and quickly begun to mutter a spell.

But it was too late. The Dochraid's power was hers – and soon, Emrys' would be too. For the magic of the earth belonged to her. And with it, she would be the Queen of all things. _Of magic itself._

* * *

**A/N: **so the Dochraid is dead because she dared utter the word 'Emrys', the knights' souls are about to be sacrificed to an inanimate object and Morgana had gone a bit power-mad. It's not looking good, is it?

Feedback is always appreciated :)


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**A Master of Two Servants: **Morgana uses the fomorroh to manipulate Arthur into hunting down and killing Emrys. Little do they know the man they are both searching for is much closer than they think … AU of 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Warnings: **gore and violence. Spoilers up to and for 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Disclaimer: **Merlin is not mine. It belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

A Master of Two Servants

Chapter Fourteen

Merlin was a mystery.

It was simple, most of the time. Most of the time, he could accept that his servant was an enigma – a puzzle he would never solve; a maze in which he would never find his goal, only a thousand and one dead-ends – and would push it to the back of his mind. Yes, it bothered him that he would never truly know Merlin, but he could convince himself, usually, that it wasn't worth dwelling on. It was just the way things were, the way things had to be.

Other times, it was all Arthur could think of.

Somehow, Merlin had grown into his best friend. Merlin knew everything about him, from his favorite meal to his deepest fears. He'd bared his soul to his servant, his _friend_, without even meaning to – and there was no point denying that Merlin knew him better than he knew himself. By now, Arthur was sure nothing he did surprised the man.

But Merlin shocked him on a regular basis. He would do something absolutely crazy; something stupidly courageous or mighty or dumbfounding, and Arthur found himself surprised, or baffled. In the end, it was _Merlin_ who was wiser than any of his advisors; Merlin who was braver than any of his knights; Merlin who was more kindhearted and selfless than any man he'd ever known. And it was then that Arthur found himself wondering just who Merlin was, really, behind the pretense of an idiotic servant, and whether one day he would understand Merlin the way Merlin understood him.

Mostly, his musings involved him wondering if there was any way Merlin wasn't really from Ealdor, and was actually some kind of philosophical genius in the midst of writing his twenty-fifth book, who had traveled through every kingdom in existence, and seen all the wonders of the world, and was having a good laugh convincing the King that he was nothing but a foolish farm boy. But that gave him a headache, and was improbable, and usually resulted in him going to sleep none the wiser as to just who Merlin was.

Other times, his thoughts were more realistic and organized, though far less pleasant. He found himself remembering the events that sometimes haunted his dreams, and it hurt. Rarely, he allowed himself to think of the few times his servant had come close to death because, usually, the memories were accompanied by the dreadful realization that Merlin had almost died because of him, that Merlin had been willing to give his life up so Arthur would live, and it _terrified _him.

In those moments, however, he thought he knew who Merlin was. Strong, courageous, stupid, compassionate; more noble than Arthur thought he himself could ever be, and so very, very _good_. Wholly, completely pure of heart. And that was true. That was what Merlin had been all along.

Yet Arthur sensed there was something more to the servant, something he may never know. And he found himself back at the beginning, wondering just who he'd bared all his secrets to without a second thought, and who he trusted with his life. He never regretted those things, and he knew he never would, but there was something he was missing, and he couldn't work out what.

Merlin disappeared on a regular basis, and Arthur wasn't convinced he was at the tavern like Gaius said – especially when he returned a few days later, after whatever problem Camelot had been facing that month had magically disappeared. Because Merlin wasn't a coward; he stayed by Arthur's side in the direst of situations, was loyal in the face of all adversities, and it didn't seem right that he would simply leave whenever Arthur, or Camelot, needed him most.

Besides, he'd only ever seen Merlin drunk once. And he had vowed to him and Gwaine, as they'd helped him home that nigh, that he was never doing such a thing ever again.

Other times, Merlin was oddly quiet and solemn, sitting around cleaning boots with slumped shoulders, guilt and regret and pain that spoke of suffering and loss glittering in his eyes. That puzzled Arthur further. Arthur recognized grief when he saw it, and only in hindsight he had ever occurred to him that Merlin had been mourning. But Merlin never told Arthur of his losses, never let anyone think he was even upset at all, and that bothered the King. Did Merlin not trust him? He often wondered if his constant mocking of the servant had, in fact, pushed him away, and if that was the reason Merlin never opened up to him.

And then there was the Dorocha incident. Merlin had been dead when Arthur reached him, when Arthur scrambled desperately to find a pulse, not giving up even when his fingers went numb from the cold, not even when Lancelot tried to pull him away and Percival went to cover the body with his cloak. Merlin was dead, for what he was sure was too long for anyone to survive without breathing, without a pulse. Arthur had lost count of time for a while, shivering and in shock, sitting beside his still servant, but he knew it had been far too long. Merlin had been _dead_, and then he had woken up – cold and in pain, confused and uncooperative, but alive. It should have been impossible. But it wasn't.

Not that he was ungrateful. No, of course not. He would willingly give his life for Merlin as Merlin would for him, and his relief when Merlin had blinked as if seeing Arthur for the first time, and finding himself thoroughly confused by the older, wiser man in front of him, was immeasurable (even after Merlin babbled almost incoherently for at least half an hour about how much of a prat Arthur was, and how he would never accept the position of being the Prince's manservant if Uther hadn't all but forced him into it in front of the entire court, and that fine, if Gaius and Kilgharrah said he had to do it, he would, but he was by no means happy about any of it, and really, some reward it was for saving the dollophead's life – then they had all been worried, but still thanking the Gods nonetheless).

But Gaius had said no mortal man could survive the Dorocha's touch. He was right. No one who had come into contact with the spirits had lived to tell the tale – no one except Merlin. Gaius he been understandably concerned when he found out, but not nearly as shocked as Arthur had expected.

So Arthur found himself wondering if Merlin was not mortal at all, and it had lead him back to his traveling-philosopher-poet-whatever theory. But then Merlin was too like Hunith not to be related to her, and _of course _he was from Ealdor, because he was one of the few people Arthur knew who could actually plow a field and stomach Gaius' cooking. So that theory was eliminated.

Though he could not stop questioning just how Merlin survived, no matter how much he tried to move on, to be grateful that Merlin was still here and, for goodness sake, stop reliving the whole incident over and over again because it never got less painful.

And then Morgana had taken him prisoner, and demanded the whereabouts of Emrys, and had been livid when he claimed not to know the man.

_Emrys, the mighty sorcerer, hidden within Camelot's very walls. Tell me, does his magic repulse you as mine does?_

He often joked with the knights that they seemed to have some kind of 'guardian angel' looking over them. Somehow, now, it made sense that it was Emrys. Morgana believed that he was within Camelot, that he had been protecting Arthur all along – that he had foiled her plans many times before, and needed to be stopped before he did so again.

So it had been Emrys all along.

Emrys who had ensured Arthur's miraculous survival. Emrys who had saved Camelot when everything seemed lost. Emrys who had protected all he cared about – Merlin included.

Emrys who had murdered his father.

It made little sense to him. Morgana believed that Emrys was close to him, and that he was on Camelot's side. But why would he protect Arthur, and those he held dear, but not his father? Arthur _loved _his father, despite everything he had done, and he'd been devastated by his death.

Why?

Perhaps it had been a mistake. Perhaps Emrys was innocent, perhaps Uther's blood was not on the sorcerer's hands after all, and he really was _good_. He had saved Merlin, after all. And Arthur was sure that none of them would have made it this far without him.

Perhaps Arthur should be thankful.

It had never occurred to him that _Merlin_ was Emrys. That Merlin was somehow in contact with the sorcerer, yes – it seemed plausible, if, during Merlin's disappearances, he'd actually been seeking help from Emrys – but not once that Merlin could possibly_ be_ Emrys.

But in the end, it made perfect sense.

Emrys was always by his side. Emrys was always protecting him. Emrys was within Camelot, closer to Arthur than any of them could have guessed.

And he'd seen Merlin use magic – they both had, the fomorroh and him.

Merlin's eyes had glowed gold.

Because Merlin had magic.

And Merlin was Emrys.

_Merlin has magic._

* * *

It was going to be one of those days, then.

This was becoming a rather frequent occurrence. He would be in one place, observing whatever the fomorroh was making him do – run a training session, for example, or dine with Guinevere in the evening – and the next moment he would be somewhere else entirely – more often than not, Gaius' quarters, bringing his recovering servant incredibly random gifts and wondering how on earth Merlin didn't notice something was amiss. The fomorroh was in full control all day and night, and he would be forced to spend most of his time in oblivion. Arthur had no idea time had even passed, until he wormed his way back into some kind of control, and was able to see some of what was going on around him.

This time, he was (thankfully) not in Gaius' chambers. But Gaius _was_ there, standing a little way ahead of him in what appeared to be the vaults. The last thing he remembered was Gwaine telling him, earlier that day, that Emrys was really called Merys, and that the knight was going to lead him to the sorcerer.

_Merys_?

"You'll find them over there, Sire," Gaius said, voice unusually tense.

Arthur found himself nodding, and following the direction Gaius had indicated. The physician stayed where he was, but his eyes followed Arthur to the corner of the vaults, where a large chest rested among a number of old and dusty artifacts.

"Where are the keys?" the fomorroh asked, a little harshly. Arthur could sense its desperation to get into the chest, yet he couldn't work out why.

"Here, Sire," one of the guards stepped forward, holding out a small, delicate-looking golden key. "This should open each of the locks."

The fomorroh snatched it away and, without another word, begun to pick at the main lock. It opened rather quickly, the lid of the chest popping open only to reveal another layer with another lock. He used the key again, this time finding the lock less cooperative, but managing to get to the next tier without too much difficulty. The third lock was far more faulty, but opened to reveal the inner camber, where a large, rusty chain had been coiled up inside, two large handcuffs that were attached to either end placed neatly on top of the looped metal.

_The restraints. _

"Your father had them made to restrain the High Priests and Priestess," Gaius explained. "Usually, a simple potion was enough to suppress a sorcerers' magic in order for them to be detained, but for the more powerful witches and warlocks it was necessary to use such methods."

Arthur was disgusted. The fomorroh, however, slithered in delight. "Just how powerful are they?"

"A larger duplicate of the manacles before you were used to capture and hold the Great Dragon for over twenty years," the old physician replied.

"Well, then." The fomorroh grinned at Gaius. "Emrys is doomed."

Gaius, looking somewhat pale, simply nodded.

"Thank you, Gaius. Our work here is done; you may return to your duties."

Arthur knew little else after that, except the familiar blackness of his self-made prison, until the fomorroh had returned him to his chambers. Agravaine was waiting inside, sitting at his desk, and it appeared that his uncle had been waiting for his return. In his hands was the weighty chest, the magic-suppressing manacles still wound up and shut away inside.

"You were right, uncle," the fomorroh said, placing the chest down upon the desk. "Gaius lead me straight to them."

"He wouldn't hide them from us," Agravaine gloated. "Not while his precious ward is in danger."

Hazily, Arthur remembered ordering Agravaine to speed up the process of getting him the manacles. He had given him permission to do whatever it took. The lord must have threatened Merlin in order to prompt Gaius into revealing the destination of the restraints.

"Speaking of which," Arthur went on, lazily. "It appears Merlin does know the destination of Emrys. Sir Gwaine and I are supposed to depart at dawn."

"_Supposed_ to depart at dawn?"

"That won't be happening. Have Gwaine put in one of the cells; I have reason to believe that he suspects us."

"What about Emrys?"

"Merlin will lead us to him," the fomorroh decided. "Ensure that he is followed. That way, he cannot alert Emrys to our plans."

"Is the servant not injured still?"

"That won't hold him back. Not while his friends are under threat. He won't lead us to Emrys' true destination unless we resort to… _extreme methods_."

"Of course, my lord."

"See to it right away, then. We have no time to waste."

Something was tugging him backwards, away, and he knew nothing for a while, until Agravaine was before him again, the manacles stretched out on the desk before them. Outside, the sun was setting, light bleeding into his chambers and illuminating the restraints before him. The chest that they had been in was across the room, out of sight.

The chain between the two cuffs was shorter than it had seemed, and would leave little room for the detained sorcerer to do much of anything. The cuffs themselves would also be incredibly uncomfortable, made to be too small, it seemed, so that there was no possible way of tugging one's hands free. He dare not think what the shackles did to magic, if it were possible to imprison a dragon with them.

"Gwaine has been put in the cells, as you requested," Agravaine was saying.

"Good." The fomorroh nodded, eyes fixed on the manacles. After a long pause, it spoke again, "You were in Camelot during the Great Purge, were you not?"

Agravaine looked somewhat uncomfortable all of a sudden. "Yes."

"Then tell me, uncle, what exactly do these manacles do?"

"I cannot be certain, Arthur–"

"_Agravaine_."

"The metal itself is said to burn the sorcerer," Agravaine admitted, looking queasy and perhaps even angry. "And the suppression of their magic is supposed to cause unimaginable pain. They will be paralyzed, unable to so much as move, let alone attempt to use their magic. They were… most effective."

Arthur decided that, if he ever regained control of his own body, he would dispose of them straight away. No sorcerer, no matter what they'd done, deserved to be confined by such methods.

"Are any more of these manacles in existence?"

"Most have been destroyed. These were only necessary for the most powerful of magic-users."

"Then they will do the job nicely."

Agravaine nodded uncertainly, looking suddenly very pale. "Emrys is powerful indeed."

"But no match for me." The fomorroh grinned widely, opening once of the draws in the desk and placing the manacles inside, away from view. "Now, uncle, I have another task for you."

The lord straightened, some color seeming to return to his cheeks now that the subject had been changed and the restraints had been put away, and waited for his orders.

"Tell Merlin I request his presence," the fomorroh ordered. "We must make our terms known, in case there is any chance of him revealing our plans to Emrys, or any one else."

"I'll see to it–"

There was shuffling outside, and then someone knocked abruptly on the door.

The fomorroh clapped his hands together. "That will be him now. He never knocks more than once."

Arthur found himself oddly furious that the fomorroh knew such a thing. Perhaps he was not as good at hiding his memories as he'd thought.

The door flew open to reveal Merlin, and a plate of food, and–

It was black again. The fomorroh had full control, and Arthur could feel his soul screaming in frustration. He couldn't let the fomorroh do this. Merlin would have no choice but to lead him straight to Emrys, and even then Arthur doubted the fomorroh would be lenient on him or Gwaine.

All he felt was anger, deep and resentful, overwhelming, but not overpowering enough. The fomorroh remained in control, and with each second that passed, each second that he had no idea what was going on, his fury grew and grew until–

Until something warm and familiar reached towards him, and his anger melted away into a brief, but pleasant, calm.

And then abyss around him seemed to crackle, bolts of golden lightening pulsating about him, and the moment of serenity was over. All of a sudden, his prison came to life, the darkness turning to light, the emptiness turning into something full and complete, and for the first time since he had woken up and found his body under full control of the fomorroh, it felt much less like a unforgiving prison, and more like a welcome place.

It felt like he had opened his eyes for the first time, and there in the shadows, when he could truly _see_, was the pulsating ball of blue light that had saved him all those years ago, more golden than he remembered, but equally as comforting, somehow, and so incredibly familiar – as it had been back then, when he had ridden out to find the flower that would save Merlin's life.

"Merlin?" he didn't know why he called out his servant's name, but it felt right. Suddenly, it belonged. He could feel Merlin here with him, somehow, and although he feared he had finally gone mad, he went on anyway, "Merlin, what are you doing here?"

He paused for a moment, suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of fear, of desperation to be free, much like what he had been feeling for the past days, and finding himself unable to think straight. "Calm down, would you? I can feel–what–_how_?"

The orb seemed to grow, the gold growing brighter, bigger, and Arthur found himself nearly speechless. _How_? How was it possible that Merlin was here?

Wait. Had Merlin sent the light all those years ago?

An image flashed before his eyes, as if answering his question, of Merlin lying on Gaius' patient bed, looking half-dead. Arthur felt a familiar jolt of horror at the sight when he realized just how close they'd come to losing him – and had Merlin really looked that bad? Gaius had said the poison induced a slow and painful death, but he hadn't really let himself think while he was…

Merlin was muttering something, sounding feverish and delusional and like the many men Arthur had seen bear their souls under the effects of a raging fever, and then Gaius was pulling away the many blankets that covered him to reveal the very orb that had guided Arthur out of the caves.

He was right. Merlin had sent that light; it had been _Merlin_.

But surely, that meant–was Merlin a _sorcerer_?

"Where are we?" Merlin asked, sounding somewhat strained and slightly nauseous.

"I–I don't know what to call it," Arthur stammered, trying desperately to keep his voice even and controlled, so as not to give away what he knew – or presumed. Because Merlin couldn't be a sorcerer. Merlin didn't have magic. That was impossible, stupid, ridiculous. _Merlin didn't have magic. _ "You shouldn't be here. You need to leave, now, before–"

"Well, I am here, dollophead." See, _that _was why Merlin couldn't be a sorcerer. Arthur was wrong. He was seeing things. Imagining things. Merlin wasn't a sorcerer; he would know. "Wherever _here _is. And I don't know how to get out."

Arthur almost snapped, _you have magic, why don't you use it? _But he pushed away his bitterness, told himself once again he was wrong, and tried not to sound cold when he hissed in reply, "You managed to find you way here. Forgive me for thinking you would at least know your way out."

"Nope. Afraid not."

Sorcerer or not, Merlin needed to leave. The fomorroh couldn't be trusted, especially when it came to Merlin. "Listen to me–"

"Can you see me?"

"Yes," he said shortly. "Well, I suppose. Sort of. Now I need you to–"

"I can't–I can't see anything. Where are you?"

Another image flashed through his mind, of a young boy with black hair and blue eyes, cuddled in a thin blanket and curled up on the floor. It was dark, so dark Arthur almost couldn't see, and he remembered how, as a child, he'd been rather scared of the shadows. Morgana had made fun of him for it, but did spent nearly everyday leading up to his eighth birthday (the day he decided that he was good enough with a sword to protect himself through the night) checking under his bed and in his wardrobe for monsters. And luckily, his nurse had made sure he was asleep before blowing out the candles at night, so he never had to fall asleep in the dark.

But this boy – Merlin, he realized – had no candles, or nurse, or Morgana to alleviate his fears. Although that didn't seem to matter when, through the darkness, Arthur saw the child's eyes glow gold and a small light appear in his hands, illuminating Merlin's pleased grin (which was most certainly _not _adorable).

So it was true. Merlin was a sorcerer.

But… but how could he be _evil_?

For goodness sake, he was still scared of the dark. Well, not really, more concerned over being trapped in an endless pit of darkness, much like Arthur was, but Merlin… Merlin seemed so human, in those visions, so _kind_. Not at all like the sorcerers Uther had described to him when he was a child, which may or may not have caused his slight – _slight _– fear of the dark.

Merlin was good. Arthur knew that much.

"Where are you? Arthur?"

If Arthur's voice was softer than usual when he spoke next, at least no one would ever know. "I'm here. I'm right here, Merlin. Now I need you to listen to me, all right? I don't know how you got here, but you need to leave _now_. Morgana isn't dead, and she–"

The feeling of being pulled backwards, further into his prison, pulsed through them both, and he felt his anger bubbling, rising. How could the fomorroh do this to them now?

"What was that?"

Fear jolted through him, and for a moment he was back in his body, familiar with the feeling of his limbs and mind, free, temporarily, from his prison. And then he realized just what he was doing, fear turning to fury. Merlin was staring at him with golden eyes, wide and unseeing, the servant's vision most probably still obscured by the blackness of the prison he remained trapped in, and Arthur had his hands around the other man's throat.

The fomorroh pushed him back before he could so much as try to fight.

_No. _Merlin was not going to die because of him. Whether he was a sorcerer or not, _Merlin was not going to die_. Not by his hands. Please, not by his hands.

"I'm sorry," Arthur murmured, wishing he didn't sound so defeated. "I'm trying–I'm so sorry, Merlin. There's no time. Get out of here now, and don't hesitate to… to do what you need to do."

If Merlin killed him, then it would save Camelot. That was what he needed to do, what he was really asking, and he only hoped that Merlin understood. Camelot came first, before his own life.

"Wait," Merlin said, frantically. "What has Morgana done to you?"

The orb was gone, suddenly, and Arthur couldn't help but reach out instinctively for it, more alone than he ever remembered feeling. But Merlin needed to save himself, and Camelot, and Arthur had to let him go.

It was all black, and loneliness, and emptiness. He knew what should be coming for him. In a way, he hoped for it. Death would be a mercy, if it meant Camelot would survive. And yet he was… scared. Yes, it scared him, and he wished he wasn't in this prison, shut off from the world, waiting for it to happen.

_Please_, he thought selfishly, wondering if that was the first time he'd ever used such a word, and what, exactly, was he saying it for? What was he asking for? Control? The safety of his kingdom, and those within it? For Merlin, and everyone else he cared for, to be safe?

He wouldn't stay here. If he was going to die, he was going to see how. And if he was going to save Merlin, he needed to _do something_.

Desperate, he let his emotions run wild. It surprised him to find that betrayal was what he felt the most – betrayal not because Merlin had magic, but because he had kept it a secret from him all this time. Hurt was betrayal's accomplice, and together they made him feel both weak and alone, and like he had lost something else he cared about to the evils of magic.

_Evils of magic_. Was magic even evil at all?

Yes. His father had told him so. Magic had corrupted Morgana, most probably Merlin too. It was magic's fault they had done this to him. Magic had done nothing but ruin his life, and ruin Camelot, and that was why there were rules against it. Rules that Morgana and Merlin and even him had broken. But Morgana and Merlin were the real criminals, the real–

No. No, that wasn't right. Magic, and many innocent people, had suffered at Uther's hands too. What about the manacles? No one deserved that, not for something they had little power over, surely? And how could Merlin and Morgana be evil? Morgana was just misguided, and Merlin – Merlin had had magic since he was a child, and had gone on practicing it because he was stupid, and foolish, and _Merlin_. Magic wasn't evil.

He didn't _know_. He had not idea, and he hated it.

He saw Merlin again. And for a moment, the briefest of moments, he thought it had all been a stupid, ridiculous dream, and that Merlin had come to wake him far later than was acceptable for a King, but much earlier than Arthur himself deemed sensible, donning breakfast and a cheery smile and the promise of a busy, but bearable, day.

And then Merlin's eyes were glowing gold, the gold of magic, the gold of corruption, and Arthur felt himself flying backwards, hitting the floor with an unpleasant thump and sliding backwards almost until he hit one of his bedposts.

Merlin slid down the wall Arthur had pinned him to, forward onto his knees, gasping for breath. One of his hands moved shakily to his throat before joining the other back on the floor, his arms working manically to push him away from where Arthur was scrabbling up a few meters away, until back was against the wall once more.

"Arthur–" Merlin gasped.

Arthur was on his feet now, calves pressing against the trunk at the end of his bed as he too tried to distance himself from the sorcerer. The fomorroh's dominance was slipping all of a sudden, and Arthur was sure that movements were his own. Despite both his uncertain acceptance and wavering denial of Merlin's sorcery, he could not help the views Uther had bought him up to believe. And facing Merlin in person, seeing for himself the gold in his eyes, made it so much more _real_.

"No," he denied, nothing more than a whisper.

"Arthur, please, I–"

"_No_!" the fomorroh was in control again. Arthur was screaming his words, his hate, his betrayal, the fomorroh its own fury at being deceived in such a way.

Emrys had been there right along, right in front of them. It had been obvious, really. Merlin had been by his side, protecting him, for quite a while now – making things better without any of them knowing, saving Camelot without seeking credit or reward, using sorcery, the very thing that could get him killed, to save and better the lives of others. Merlin had known Emrys too well, and yet Arthur had never seen the two of them in the same room together. There had been that one time, when Gwen was almost burnt at the stake for 'enchanting him', but even then Merlin had not stood before, or beside, Emrys.

Because they were one and the same.

_Merlin is Emrys_.

Arthur was a master of two servants, in a way. A master of the bumbling fool who had always surprised him, who had always put him in his place when he stepped out of line, and who had been his greatest and most trusted friend; and the master of the almighty warlock, who served him all the same, but in the shadows, with a power he was sure none of them could begin to comprehend, but to which they all owed their lives.

And yet, somehow, they were equal. With all the power they both possessed, all the authority they could assert if they so wished, they were _equal_. Two sides of the same coin. Two halves that, together, made a whole.

Arthur tried to shade the realization from the fomorroh, but the serpent was diligent, and suspecting. The feeling of betrayal rushed through Arthur, followed by the feeling of awe and amazement and sudden, strange _acceptance_, and the fomorroh stole it all, biting at the new knowledge with keenness and glee. It had found exactly what it was looking for.

The fomorroh had him reach for his sword, and step forward, ready to strike. Arthur fought, but it wasn't enough. After a few long, sure strides, he had positioned the sword so that it rested on Merlin's neck, and Merlin was looking up at him with wide and scared eyes.

The sword drew back.

And then, with all his strength, Arthur – _Arthur _– threw it across the room.

The fomorroh wouldn't win this. _Morgana _wouldn't win this.

Not this time. Not ever.

* * *

**A/N: **well, there you have it, Arthur's reveal feels. I tweaked Arthur and Merlin's dialogue from the last chapter a little, so it made more sense, just in case you were wondering.

Next chapter it nearly done, and should hopefully be up soon. Feedback is much appreciated :)


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**A Master of Two Servants: **Morgana uses the fomorroh to manipulate Arthur into hunting down and killing Emrys. Little do they know the man they are both searching for is much closer than they think … AU of 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Warnings: **gore and violence. Spoilers up to and for 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Disclaimer: **Merlin is not mine. It belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

A Master of Two Servants

Chapter Fifteen

The sword clattered to a halt across the room, below the window, and for a moment they simply stared at it as though neither of them had ever seen such a thing before, let alone used one. Outside, the sky was dark, no moon or stars in sight, and the sword now lay in the shadows, hidden almost completely from the light of the few lit candles.

Arthur couldn't help but revel the feeling of freedom, of being in complete control of his own body. The fomorroh had retreated, scolded and unsure, momentarily swapping places with Arthur. He had taken the fomorroh's throne, and the serpent had been forced into the prison Arthur had first awakened to. It was trapped, and it knew all too well. The switching of power wouldn't last, but it would give him long enough to do what he had to do.

His stomach dropped at the thought. The moment was over, the liberating joy replaced once more by burden and duty.

Slowly, with a cautious glance in Merlin's direction, Arthur moved towards the sword, taking slow and deliberate steps until he reached the weapon. The sword scraped nosily against the floor when he picked it up and returned it to his sheath. Merlin flinched, leaning further back into the wall in what could have been exhaustion or relief.

Arthur closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath though his nose, and prepared himself for what came next. With similarly slow steps, he approached Merlin and held out his hand to the servant. Merlin regarded his outstretched hand worriedly, eyes wondering to the King's impassive face before returning to the appendage that had a moment ago been around his neck. Then, with shaking hands, he steeled himself and took up the offer, allowing Arthur to pull him to his feet.

They stood like that for a moment, silent and still, until Arthur turned and walked to the door.

"Arthur?" Merlin asked uncertainly. "What–"

"Follow me."

"Arthur–"

"_Follow me_. And do not say a word."

Merlin opened his mouth, as if to disobey, but did as asked, stumbling over to where Arthur now held open the door. He stepped outside, watching as Arthur did the same, and then, without glancing at Merlin, walked down the corridor, passed the guards and to the staircase, where he stopped to check that Merlin was following.

One of Merlin's hands moved up his chest, to his neck, as though reliving what had happened only moments earlier. Arthur wished there was something he could say, but he was afraid if he opened his mouth he would not be able to voice anything other than his betrayal. And he didn't want Merlin to remember that, when he thought of him.

Thankfully, nothing needed to be said. Merlin appeared fully aware that Arthur hadn't been himself then, but was now, and did as he was told, following after him with tense shoulders, as if instinctively ready to pounce if any threat was to approach either of them. Arthur wondered if Merlin really would do whatever it took, if it came down to it again.

They were in the Lord's wing, where most of the unmarried noble men of the court lived when they were not at their manors, when Agravaine turned the corner, and Arthur could feel Merlin stiffen, shoulders rising almost to his ears, behind him. Arthur strolled passed his uncle with little more than a nod of acknowledgement in his direction, ignoring the look of confusion and anger on Agravaine's face. Merlin continued obediently on behind him, and it wasn't until they had almost reached the corner themselves that the thought occurred to Arthur, and he stopped abruptly.

The restraints remained in the draw where he left them, but they couldn't stay there. If the fomorroh was to regain control, and hunt Merlin down, Arthur doubted it would hesitate to use such a powerful and deliberating weapon against his servant. And Arthur would not allow Merlin to suffer such pain, could not even bear to think about it.

He reached for his sword, drawing it from his scabbard. Behind him still, Merlin tensed again, as if expecting to be run through right there and then. Arthur turned, eyes meeting the sorcerer's briefly, before brushing past him, to where his uncle watched the exchange with bafflement and increasing concern.

"The manacles," Arthur said, lifting the sword so it balanced in front of the lord. Agravaine feigned indignation, opening his mouth to protest, but Arthur silenced him, "You know where they are. Now ensure no one finds them again."

"My lord?"

"You have been feeding information to Camelot's enemies," Arthur hissed, voice low and deadly. "A felony punishable by death, as you know. So you will do as I say, or I shall run you through were you stand, _uncle_."

Fury swirled in Agravaine's dark eyes. They flicked to Merlin, briefly, before returning to his nephew. "I assure you, Arthur, I am not the traitor here. Your _manservant_–"

Arthur's grip tightened on his sword, and he said through gritted teeth words he was not sure he yet believed, "My _manservant _is innocent. You, Agravaine, are far from it."

"He has consorted with sorcerers."

"And you with sorceresses."

"He deceives you."

"No," Arthur snapped. "It is _you _that has deceived I, and it is _you _that _will _pay for your crimes. But first, I have a job for you."

"And you think I will–"

"Merlin." The King kept his gaze locked on Agravaine, even when the lord's suspicious eyes turned to Merlin. "Perhaps you can _persuade _the traitor."

Merlin hesitated, eyes wide, knowing. "Arthur–"

"You are _Emrys_, after all. It shouldn't be _difficult_."

Arthur wanted to take the bitterness from his voice, from his aching soul, and cast it away. But he had been betrayed again, and it _hurt. _Agravaine was all that remained of his family, of his _mother_, and Arthur had trusted him so very much. And he had been in league with Morgana all this time. It hurt almost as much as his half-sister's betrayal.

Merlin's betrayal, however, hurt more. Again, Merlin had taken him by surprise with the colossal assault of emotions he felt towards his servant's – friend's? – magic. Because yes, Merlin was a true friend, someone he had always trusted, someone he had always sought approval and advice from. Merlin had been by his side from the moment he'd been made Arthur's servant, loyal and trustworthy.

And now Arthur had discovered not only that he had magic, but that he was _Emrys_. Powerful, known, sought-after – the man responsible for his father's death. Arthur felt as though he had been thrust into the position of King before he was ready because of Dragoon's interference – the interference, he tried to tell himself, he had initiated – and that the weight of the kingdom was weighing down on his shoulders. But Merlin had always lessened that weight. _Merlin_, not Emrys.

And yet they were one and the same. They both had magic.

Magic, that he had been taught all his life was evil. It had taken Morgana, his father, his uncle. Perhaps even his mother – because he wasn't sure he could believe anything Merlin had ever said before, and maybe the servant had been lying about Ygraine all along.

Magic was evil, but Merlin was not.

He didn't know how he should feel or react, or even what to do. But Agravaine would pay for his betrayal, he was sure of that.

Agravaine smiled, a dark and twisted kind of smile that seemed to mirror the coolness of his eyes as they narrowed. "So you have been at court all this time. Oh, how well you've deceived us, Emrys."

Deception. Arthur fought a shudder at the word. He lifted the sword again, closer to Agravaine. "Not another word."

The lord continued anyway. "It is not too late, Merlin. We are not all that different, you and I."

Merlin stood straighter, defiant and proud, and Arthur got a true sense of the power he possessed when he spoke, "Oh, it is far too late, _my lord_."

There would be not more arguing, no more convincing, after that.

Agravaine's gaze flicked between Merlin and Arthur, frantic, calculating, and then he was running, moving below and around Arthur's offending sword and darting for the door. Arthur watched as Merlin's eyes turned gold and as his uncle pulled at the now-locked door in a desperate but useless attempt to open it.

The King turned his sword over in his hand, a wide and swooshing motion. "The manacles. You will retrieve them from my chambers, and take them to the Padstow Garrison. Tell Sir Joseph that they are to be put in the vaults with the Crystal of Neahtid. You will tell no one of their destination."

"I am loyal to Morgana," Agravaine declared, truthful, at last, in the face of death. "I will serve her always."

Arthur glanced at Merlin. The servant took unsteady steps forward, until he was standing in front of Arthur and facing Agravaine. Merlin looked over his shoulder at Arthur, challenging and unsure, but the King only nodded. He had made his mind up already; it could not be changed.

Taking advantage of the brief but distracting exchange, Agravaine pulled his sword from his scabbard. Arthur he would save for Morgana, but Emrys needed finishing. Without a second thought, Agravaine attacked.

...And promptly found himself on the other end of the corridor, where he had first seen the King and his servant. His head swam and pounded, and Arthur and Merlin stood over him, the former with his sword to the lord's chest.

"If anything were to happen," Merlin was saying to Arthur. "The spell would be reversed. Morgana–"

"I am fully aware of that."

"This isn't a good idea, Arthur, I can't–"

"You will do as I say. And that's _sire _to you, _Emrys_."

Merlin flinched and looked down at Agravaine. For a moment, the traitor thought he saw regret in the servant's eyes – and then blue flashed gold, the same gold as Morgana's did, and everything was gone from them but power and satisfaction.

"You will take the manacles to Padstow and ensure they are secured," Merlin commanded. "And then you will go to Morgana and tell her that your plans are running smoothly. Tell her that the search for Emrys continues, that you have been left in charge of the kingdom in Arthur's absence, of course. She will suspect nothing, is that understood?"

"Yes," Agravaine found himself whispering.

"Then go," Merlin snapped. "And you will remember nothing of this when it is done."

"Yes," Agravaine said again.

The gold faded from Merlin's eyes. "You have work to do, Agravaine."

The lord stumbled to his feet and nodded, bowing absently to Arthur before continuing down the corridor. The world continued to spin, but that would not interfere with his purpose. Nothing would.

* * *

Merlin watched Agravaine go, feeling his magic fade back into his soul. A feeling of ruthlessness, of pride, settled into his stomach, and he wasn't quite sure he liked it. "How did you know that spell?"

"My father," Arthur replied quietly. "Had a man executed for preforming such a spell. He was a salesman, and he used his magic to make sure anyone who brought from him would return to his stall the next day or week to buy more. He was burnt at the stake."

"Is that what you'll do to me?" Merlin asked, sounding both scared and joking.

"No," Arthur whispered. "Agravaine, perhaps. But not you."

"What will you do when he returns?"

"The fomorroh will decide, I'm sure."

"A fomorroh? That's what's causing… this?"

"You know what it is?"

"Yeah, I, um…"

Arthur sighed. "Of course you do."

He turned, continuing down the corridor. Merlin followed without prompting this time, although he didn't remain quiet.

"Arthur, where are we going?"

"Don't you know the way to Gaius' quarters?"

"Of course, but why–?"

"I thought I said not a word."

Merlin was quiet. They walked in silence, to and from different wings of the castle, up staircases and down staircases, Arthur both trying to hasten and slow the journey. He didn't know how long he had before the fomorroh escaped the prison, but he wasn't sure he was ready for what he knew came next. In the end, it was the long route they took, and by the time they'd reached Gaius' quarters Arthur was sure Agravaine had already reached the woods, and was on his way to Padstow with the manacles.

Before entering, Arthur told Merlin to go inside and sought out the nearest guards. They were at the bottom of the staircase, waiting, and were happy to follow Arthur's orders. He sent for Gwaine, hopeful that the knight wouldn't take the long route, and jogged up the steps again.

Inside, Merlin stood in the center of the room, looking decidedly lost and completely unsure of what to do with himself. Arthur looked briefly in his direction, forcing down everything he could have said to reassure him, or even to do the opposite, and continued up the steps and into the small room Merlin slept in, without a word to the servant.

There were a number of clothes thrown about the floor, Merlin's chambers only slightly tidier than the King's own, but Arthur found a sufficient amount of shirts and neckerchiefs when he threw open the wardrobe. Placed inside also was a leather satchel, which he decided would be the right size, and he took the bag out with a handful of shirts, throwing both onto the bed.

"What are you doing?" Merlin demanded, half-jumping up the steps.

"Merlin–"

"Are you _packing_?"

"Yes," Arthur huffed. "I am packing."

Merlin watched him for a moment, frowning, realization creeping into his features. "And why are you packing?"

"Because you are going on a journey – a long journey, preferably."

"And will you be coming on this journey?"

"Of course not. I'm the King, Merlin, I have kingly duties."

Merlin blinked and sat heavily in the chair at his desk, massaging his injured shoulder and wincing. "You're sending me away."

"No," Arthur said, attempting to stuff another shirt into the bag. "I am _ordering _you to leave Camelot for you better good."

"Arthur, Morgana is planning something, I need to be _here_."

"I won't be responsible for your death, Merlin."

"Why not? I've lied to you all this time. I have magic."

"I won't change my mind, Merlin." Arthur refused to meet Merlin's eyes, picking up the blanket from the bed and attempting to strap it to the bag. "The fomorroh will regain control, and you cannot be here what it does."

Merlin shook his head, defiant. "My place is by your side."

"If you want to protect Camelot–" Arthur gave up, throwing the blanket down onto the bed with a little more vigor than was needed. "–Then you will find my knights and you will take refuge wherever you can. Do you think you can find a way to stop Morgana? Destroy the fomorroh, if you can?"

Merlin considered this for only a moment. "Yes, sire."

"Morgana must believe Emrys is dead," Arthur emphasized. "You must take her by surprise."

"How are we going to convince her that I'm dead?"

Arthur sat down on the bed, hands rubbing along his growing stubble in thought. "We need to convince the fomorroh. When it regains control, it will force me to hunt you down – we must convince it that it has. Do you think you can evade a Camelot patrol?"

This time, Merlin didn't even need to think. A half-smile brushed his lips. "Yes, I think I can manage that."

"You won't be alone."

"I won't?"

At that moment, the door the Gaius' quarters flew open and a messy, but otherwise unharmed, Gwaine stormed into the chambers. "What do you _want_, Pendragon? Trust me, I am in no mood to have a friendly chat after you had your slimy uncle _imprison _me!"

Merlin's smile grew. "I take it Gwaine is coming with me."

Arthur, despite himself, grinned back. "Got it in one."

"What is going on here?" Gwaine demanded, standing at the door and glancing manically between them. "I thought–"

"There's not enough time to explain," Arthur cut him off. "You and Merlin are leaving Camelot."

Gwaine's eyes widened. "You know."

Arthur nodded patronizingly. "Yes."

"_You know_."

"Great. Your observation skills are still in tact," Arthur drawled sarcastically, choosing not to mention that _Gwaine _had known before him. Who else knew? "But now is most definitely not the time to be discussing this. The fomorroh–"

"The what?"

Arthur fought to control his frustration. "There's no time to explain. All you need to know is that Morgana has plans for the knights, of that much I'm sure. You need to find them, and you need to stay clear of Camelot until you are certain that the fomorroh is no longer a threat, and that Morgana can be destroyed."

"We're going after Morgana?" Gwaine asked, wide-eyed. "Just me and Merlin?"

"You and _Emrys_," Arthur corrected, finding himself oddly accepting of the words. "And whatever army you can gather." The King turned to Emrys, a feeling of familiarity and trust settling into his chest. This was their only chance, and he had no choice but to accept it. "Do you think you can do it?"

Merlin nodded, smiling reservedly, as if afraid to let his emotions show.

"Then I trust you," Arthur said, earnest. He stood, picking the satchel up with him, and Merlin copied. "If it comes down to it, if the fomorroh–"

"Arthur–"

"You know what you need to do, Merlin."

"No. No, I won't–"

Arthur shook his head, smiling slightly, but humorlessly, at the servant's stubbornness. "_Merlin_. I will not be responsible for your death, or Camelot's destruction. If it comes down to it, you will do what you have to, no matter what. Is that understood?"

Merlin said nothing.

"_Is that understood_?"

"Yes," Merlin replied reluctantly.

"Good." Arthur wasn't sure he believed Merlin, but there was little he could do about it now. He could feel the fomorroh stirring in its prison, cut off still from their conversation, but inching closer to escape with each passing moment. "Now you need to _go_."

"What about Gaius?" Merlin asked. "And Gwen? If Morgana is planning an invasion, they can't stay here."

"I'll find a way to get them out of Camelot."

"Are you sure you can–?"

"It's Gwen, Merlin. I will have to find a way."

"Send them to Ealdor. They'll be safe there."

Arthur nodded. "Are you ready?"

"There's one more thing…"

Arthur watched as Merlin knelt on the floor and felt under his bed, until he found the broken floorboard and forced it open. From the small, hidden compartment below it, Merlin pulled a large leather book, one Arthur instantly recognized as being magical. A Grimoire.

Arthur looked away, jaw clenched. "All this time…." He chuckled bitterly. "And my father made you my servant."

Merlin swallowed. "I'm sorry."

Arthur didn't acknowledge the apology. He thrust the bag at Merlin and paced into the main part of Gaius' quarters, knowing the knight and servant would soon follow. By the time Gwaine and Merlin had joined him, he'd gathered the pain medication he knew Merlin continued to take, along with a few other medical supplies. Merlin took them from him to put the bag, which was now full with his clothes and the Grimoire, the stubborn blankets and bedrolls fastened to the top. It would be enough, for now; Arthur only hoped they would have the opportunity to get more supplies at some point. At least Gwaine could hunt, if need be, but where would they stay?

"It's better that I don't know where you're going," Arthur decided. "But do not go to Ealdor, or anywhere else the fomorroh will associate with either of you. Gwen and Gauis may be safe there, but you won't be."

Gwaine nodded seriously. "Of course."

Arthur clasped arms with the knight, meeting his eyes. The _look after him _went unsaid, but fully understood. Gwaine nodded again, once, and let go, taking the bag from Merlin and waiting at the door, so that the King could say his other farewells.

Merlin held out his hand the same way Gwaine had. "I won't fail you, Arthur."

"I know." Arthur closed his hand around the other's mans wrist, meeting Merlin's eyes. There was so much they needed to say, and so little time. And Arthur knew he may never see his servant – no, for goodness sake, his _friend _– again. So the King pulled his best friend close, one arm around his shoulders, and whispered, "I'm sorry, too."

_I'm sorry for the way I treated you. I'm sorry that you were forced to hide who you are, that your kind has been hunted all this time. I'm sorry, if this is the last time I see you. I'm just sorry, Merlin._

When Arthur pulled away, Merlin was smiling slightly, sadly. He understood, and he nodded once at his King, before joining Gwaine at the door. Both of them looked ready, prepared, and Arthur already felt alone.

"Goodbye," Arthur murmured.

"Until the next time," Gwaine corrected. "You need to stop worrying, princess. We have Merlin!"

Arthur laughed. "Why do I not find that reassuring?"

"Because you are senseless, my friend," Gwaine joked. "Senseless and stupid."

Strength, Courage and Magic laughed in unison.

Gwaine threw the door open, still chuckling, and announced, "Now we have an evil witch to destroy! Until the next time."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Until the next time."

Merlin caught his gaze briefly before he and Gwaine left. In that moment, Arthur realized that Merlin knew 'next time' was not as close as either of them would have liked, and that the odds were against them all. But the _I will not fail you, Arthur, _still hung between them, earnest and unwavering.

Arthur wanted to tell him that it didn't matter if he did fail _him_. As long as Camelot was still standing, as long as it remained the just and great place they had begun to build, then it didn't matter what happened to its King.

But Merlin – Merlin needed to live. It mattered a great deal, to the King, what happened to Merlin._  
_

Arthur watched them go. They had left him with hope, and he was going to hold onto it for as long as he could.

* * *

It was little more than hour an hour later that he found himself in the courtyard, pushed far back into the recesses of his mind, into the prison the fomorroh had not long ago managed to escape from. In front of him were a large number of men, mounted on their own horses, armed with their weapons and a number of hunting dogs, ready for the chase. Arthur was well-equipped himself, a number of weapons, including a cross bow, attached to his saddle. His stallion stood at the front, ready to lead the hunt.

He had been able to get Gwen to agree to leave for Ealdor with Gaius the next morning. Arthur had told them an illness had broken out in the village, and the people needed their expertise.

The fomorroh had regained control not long after that. It knew who Emrys was, and that he had escaped. And now, it was intent on chasing Merlin down.

Arthur only hoped they had gotten far enough already.

The fomorroh lifted his sword, pointing it forward to the gate, and then they were charging, a furious storm of hammering hooves and howling hounds.

_Emrys won't get far_, the fomorroh gloated to him.

_I wouldn't be so sure of that_, Arthur replied.

* * *

**A/N: **the huuug! That was my favourite bit of the entire episode, I had to find a way to get it into this as well, AU or not.

Ronja: I understand why you're confused! The first part of the last chapter was Arthur's thoughts on Merlin/the reveal. The second part went back to before the reveal, when Arthur was with Gaius and Agravaine, and then leads up to the reveal. Sorry that I confused you. Hopefully this clears things up a bit.

Feedback is much appreciated :)


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**A Master of Two Servants: **Morgana uses the fomorroh to manipulate Arthur into hunting down and killing Emrys. Little do they know the man they are both searching for is much closer than they think … AU of 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Warnings: **gore and violence. Spoilers up to and for 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Disclaimer: **Merlin is not mine. It belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

A Master of Two Servants

Chapter Sixteen

"How are you holding up, mate?"

They had been riding as hard as they could from the moment they'd left Camelot's gates, and Gwaine had not stopped asking the question each time they'd slowed to a trot to ensure they were heading in the right direction. Merlin had told him, each time, that he was _fine_. But it was only down to magic and his wonderfully reliable horse that he had even managed to remain upright in the saddle, and he doubted the pain in his shoulder and chest would have been at all manageable if he hadn't resorted to desperate measures.

"Fine!" Merlin called back.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"How long is it now?"

"Not long," Merlin replied, although he wasn't quite sure it was true. Timekeeping and basic navigation had been put aside for the more difficult task of staying on his horse.

"And you're certain your friend will be there?"

Merlin smiled, despite his pain, despite his anguish at having to leave Arthur, and Camelot, while they were both so venerable, before he'd even gotten the chance to explain to him the truth. "I'm certain."

"Well, any friend of yours is a friend of mine." Gwaine grinned enthusiastically, as though he was enjoying the rather sudden escapade, and kicked his horse back into a gallop, charging off into a cluster of nearby trees.

Merlin glanced over his shoulder one last time, at Camelot's rising torrents. The world seemed so still around him, the city itself stagnant above the canopy of trees. Something tugged at his chest, and he felt himself drawn to Camelot the same way he had been on his journey there, all those years ago. But he couldn't go back, not yet. It was for the best, he told himself.

He urged his horse forward, following after Gwaine.

* * *

When Leon opened his eyes, it was to the blurred grin of Morgana Pendragon. The witch looked somewhat disheveled in the dim light, a manic look of excitement in her wild green eyes, and Leon wished himself unconscious again.

It took him a moment to work out where, exactly, he was. Morgana had moved him somehow, and he now sat in her false throne, strapped to the wood with already-bloodied ropes. Morgana leaded over him, the Mirror in her hand.

"Nice of you to join us, Leon," Morgana drawled, moving to stand behind the chair, arms dangling over the tall back. The Mirror swung somewhere beside his ear, and Leon caught a brief glimpse of his battered reflection before it was moved. "I trust you slept well?"

As usual, he didn't reply.

Morgana sighed, the exhale ruffling his hair. "Uncooperative as ever, I see."

Leon said nothing. There was another sigh.

"No matter," Morgana said. "We'll just get straight to the point, then."

She was standing in front of his again, towering over the chair, the Mirror turned towards him. This time, he saw his reflection in full, and it wasn't a pretty sight. He would have turned away, if he could find the energy to do so – but he was spent, and Morgana knew it.

"_Animo ego dabo vobis_," she begun, the words of the spell seeming to slip of her tongue. The air around them seemed to come to life, buzzing with magic. "_Tolle animam meam_. _Nam virtus_, _bonae Deae_,_ et dominantia_."

The cackle and clash of lightening started to vibrate through the tunnels. It was the first thing he had heard from outside his prison and it was harrowing, echoing through his head until the next real rumble of thunder came, followed shortly again by another strike of lightening.

Morgana grinned gleefully, and continued with the spell. Leon let his eyes fall closed.

* * *

"Sire!" one of the nearby knights called out, shouting over the sudden rumble of thunder. "Shall we continue?"

"Yes!" the fomorroh yelled back, even when Arthur protested. "We will not stop until Emrys is found!"

"But sire–" the knight protested, as the heavens split with another bout of thunder, and an almighty shower of sleet rained down on them.

The fomorroh wouldn't listen, spurring the hunting patrol forward. They had no choice but to listen, to follow their King.

* * *

Merlin drew his horse to a stop as the sky flashed silver, the sound of both thunder and lightening ricocheting off the trees. The sky returned to its motionless black a moment later, but the peace did not last for long. Another drumroll of thunder tumbled from the clouds and soon a chilling mix of rain and snow, appearing like ash in the darkness, begun to fall from the sky.

"Morgana," he murmured, feeling her magic stirring. It was stronger, much stronger than it had been in the previous few days, and her power seemed to be growing with each bolt of lighting. "Gwaine!"

Gwaine tugged at his horse's reigns, turning the beast around and trotting to where Merlin had stopped. "What is it?"

"This is Morgana's doing," Merlin replied. "We have to go back."

"No." Gwaine shook his head, wet hair flying backwards and forward. "No! We can't go back, you know you'll be killed."

"What if–?"

"Arthur probably isn't even in Camelot. My bet is he has a patrol looking for us right now."

"But what is she _doing_?" Merlin growled, more to himself than the knight. "This isn't natural. A storm like this–"

A bolt of lightening hit a nearby tree, around two hundred feet from where they had stopped. The forest around them seemed to vibrate with the force of it, a brilliant flash of light burning through the gaps between the trees. Gwaine's horse startled, rearing up onto its back legs, kicking and braying nervously. The mare was young and inexperienced, and Gwaine had never ridden her before, but he probably would have been able to get control of the horse if another rumble of thunder hadn't distressed her further. But she reared again, and although he had a good grip on the reigns, the leather of his gloves had become slippery from the sleet, and he couldn't maintain his hold. He hit the floor with a loud thud, the air rushing out of him, and lay their stunned for a moment, looking up at the glowing clouds and finding it rather beautiful.

Then Merlin was helping him up, soaking wet and worryingly pale, so unsteady on his feet now that he was no longer using his magic to keep him going that they both fell onto the wet ground. Gwaine stood first, this time, and helped Merlin to his feet, keeping a steadying hand on the servant's arm.

"Are you alright?" Merlin gasped, exhausted by the effort.

"I should ask you the same question!" Gwaine yelled over the roaring weather, eyeing the other man with concern. Then he realized, eyes going wide, that his startled horse, and Merlin's more reliable stallion, had both disappeared. "Where are the horses?"

"They bolted."

It made sense. Kay had taken Gwaine's usual horse, Gringolet, after wining an ill-thought-out bet at the tavern, and Gwaine had been forced to take the young knight's stubborn and ruthless mare (that was a lot like her usual rider). The horse was not used to such storms, and she had ran, startling Merlin's own horse to follow. But all he could manage was a dumbfounded, disbelieving, "What?"

"They're gone. They were startled; I couldn't stop them."

Gwaine cursed so loudly that the next bolt of lightening seemed rather measly in comparison. "Will we make it on foot?"

"I think so."

"Then let's go."

They set off on foot, running at first, but quickly slowing to a fast-paced walk when Merlin struggled to keep up with Gwaine. He was exhausted, his magic growing uncooperative as the storm worsened, and his knees could barely keep him upright. It wasn't long before he stumbled, and Gwaine was forced to catch him, scooping Merlin's arm around his shoulders and helping the man onwards.

Merlin's legs gave out completely not long after, and they were forced to stop for a moment to rest. They took shelter under a tree, Merlin half conscious and Gwaine glancing worriedly about the forest for any signs of an approaching patrol or enemy – although he realized then, with a jolt, that any knight of Camelot would be an enemy of theirs now.

As he searched, and as Merlin regained some of his strength, the sounds of the thunder and lightening seemed to transform into something far more sinister and rhythmic. The rumbling thunder was accompanied by the braying of hounds, lightening clanging in synchronization with the pounding of hooves against the forest floor. The Camelot patrol.

They stared at each other for a moment, wide-eyed and panicked, and then Gwaine had his arm back around Merlin, the satchel that had fallen of the servant's horse when it startled thrown over his free shoulder, and he was dragging them both along, ignoring the way his body protested after being thrown so brutally from quite a height. But they kept going, even when both was gasping in pain, begging whatever force that would grant them mercy, and shelter, and rest. Irrational as it may have been, when they both knew that there would be someone waiting for them, if they could just make it to the clearing, there was something draining and hope-drowning about being hunted by one's own King, own _friend_.

The sleet was cold, and damning, and with each passing moment Merlin felt Morgana's magic creeping further to crescendo, casting shadows and storms over Albion as she worked. And he knew, then, that there was nothing he could do. Her magic pushed his deeper, suppressed all that he had, and he had never felt more venerable. It was more painful than knowing he had to go on, knowing that he had to leave Camelot, and his best friend, for the better good. He wasn't sure he could see the_ good _in any of this, now.

Eventually, they had to stop, seeking refuge in the hollow bark of a fallen tree trunk. The continuing sleet soaked through their boots, but neither of them could bear to drag their aching legs under the shelter of the bark, and although both knew that they were not safe here, not from the storm nor the search party, they stayed decidedly put.

"What," Gwaine managed to gasp out. "What is she–up to–this time?"

"A spell – a powerful one," Merlin replied, managing slightly more coherence than the knight. "But–but I've never felt… she's never been this powerful before, not even with the Dorocha…"

"This is not good. This is not good at–"

The sounds of footsteps on the forest floor startled Gwaine into silence. Fallen leaves, sodden with sleet, and the amputated twigs scattered among them, crunched noisily in the clearing behind them, the steps slow and deliberate and menacing. The sounds stopped suddenly, and Gwaine and Merlin shared a panicked look. The hunting patrol had sounded far away, the dogs and horses muffled by the everlasting storm, but that didn't mean Arthur hadn't sent men out on foot.

Silence. A bolt of lightening. Silence again.

Then there was a human whistle, loud and piercing. They didn't hear the barks until the next bout of thunder had passed, and the lightening momentarily retreated, but they both knew all too well that one of the dogs, at least, had been summoned.

With the hound came more footsteps, this time fast and less powerful. The person – a knight, perhaps – stopped, panting for breath, and then he spoke, "My lord, we have found the traitors' horses."

_My lord_. Had it been Arthur who first entered the clearing?

"Good." Merlin tensed. He would know that voice anywhere. He was right. _Arthur_. "They cannot be far, then."

They listened as the sound of squelching paws approached their place behind the trunk, accompanied by a familiar snuffling. It was probably one of the dogs Arthur made Merlin exercise, that had seemed like nothing more than harmless balls of fur as puppies, and still rolled and fooled about as though they were fresh from the litter from time to time, out on the training fields, but were easily persuaded by a slab of meat and the promise of a good run, and as deadly a weapon as a sharpened sword in battle and hunt, when ordered to be. The hound would be fiercely loyal and eager to impress for a meaty reward, and would doubtlessly sniff them out. Arthur and the knight would have a clear shot on them both, and it would all be over, just like that.

Unless Merlin could use his magic. Morgana was strong, but he was _Emrys_, and he would do whatever it took to protect his friends. Closing his eyes, he let his magic flow freely through the land around them, crawling over the bark and their spent bodies, sheltering them from view – from existence, in a way, for in that moment nothing in the world could see them, or hear them, or pick up any hint of their scent, not even Camelot's most prized hounds. Not a single touch could reach them, and they both felt slightly invincible, as they hid beneath the blanket of Merlin's magic.

The hound, a tall, grey and wiry thing that Merlin did recognize, had looked right at them, hungry brown eyes staring into theirs. But it saw nothing, wet nuzzle moving at Gwaine and Merlin's boots, and finding only leaves and mud. It sniffed the floor for only a moment before returning to the heels of the knight, ready for its next order.

Shouting sounded through the trees, and then the King and knight were running, the hunting dog close behind them, joining in with the chorus of barks that accompanied the far-away orders.

As soon as they were gone, Gwaine and Merlin were up on their feet, hobbling in the opposite direction, forcing all the energy they had left into escaping.

* * *

The storm was calming, thunder and lightening growing distant, sleet turning to gentle snow and then to nothing at all. Merlin and Gwaine had slowed to a fast walk, leaning heavily on one another, but determined to go onwards.

"Where is–" Gwaine paused, and with a grunt pulled Merlin up when he stumbled, propelling them forwards and back into the rhythm they had developed. "–This friend of yours?"

"Late," Merlin wheezed. "Late, the one bloody time that I need him."

"Maybe he got caught in the storm."

Merlin let out a breathless chuckle. "Maybe."

"You're not worried?"

"He can hold his own."

"Then where is he?"

"Late. _Very _late."

"Think you can tell him to hurry up?"

Merlin laughed again – although it was more of a wheeze – and went to reply, but then he heard it, the low and distinguishable growl of a hunting dog that had found its prey.

Gwaine had already stopped, forcing Merlin to a halt with him, and turning around. Merlin had little choice but to turn as well.

Through the darkness, the hound was nothing more than a shadow, but it seemed bigger than the others, somehow, and deadlier. They could see the faint twinkle of his eyes as he looked the pair up and down, teeth bared in a harsh snarl, nose taking in their familiar scent. A deep, croaking rumble sounded in his throat, and then he let out a series of loud and instantly recognizable barks in summoning.

The patrol was upon them in almost an instant, the forest seeming to come alive all of a sudden. Half of the men, at least, that had been hunting the pair swooped from the trees, some on horseback, others on the ground. All had their weapons draw – some crossbows, others swords, one or two even possessing spears – and all were ready to capture them both.

Merlin half wanted to lie on the ground and wait for them to take him, if the mud did not swallow him whole beforehand. But he let Gwaine pull him forward, finding a sudden advantage over the Camelot patrol on a patch of solid ground. The knights behind them struggled through the sticky, squelching mud, while Gwaine and Merlin made good use of their short head start.

The chase had well and truly begun.

* * *

The next time Leon awoke, he could feel a strange pull in his chest, which seemed to originate in his sternum and flow forwards, to where Morgana stood in front of him. It was a strange feeling, as though something were trying to escape his body, pulled free by a force he could not quite see.

The spell, and the storm, had raged on for what could have been hours. The mountains seemed to vibrate with the furious pounding of thunder and the crude crackles of lightening, and yet he felt sheltered here. A sense of peace had settled over his body, and it no longer felt like his, even as the tugging in his chest grew into a firm pull. Outside, the storm seemed to calm with the final words of Morgana's spell.

"_Antiqua virtus_." Morgana was whispering now, the hushing storm outside the caves a mere hum, somehow, in the shadow of the almighty spell, that despite its quietness spoke volumes of great dominance. "_Vos appeho_. _Cinere, surget, et iterum dominari_. _Exstiterunt_!"

He thought that he cried out, a mere, muffled exclamation of shock and wrongness that was, and would be, his final show of loyalty to his King. And then whatever had been threatening to escape was torn from his chest, and gold obscured his vision completely.

When the brilliance dimmed, he could see, through half-closed eyes, that a coil of colors stretched from his chest – red and blue, purple and green, and a fair bit of gold – and to the Mirror. The glass, and the eighty crystals that made up its frame, were alight with color also, dominated again by gold. He could feel its power in full, for the first time. What he had felt before paled in comparison to _this_.

And then the color was gone, and it was not his reflection he saw in the Mirror, but a bloody wasteland. A land destroyed by greed, magic tainted by desperation and hunger for power. It took all his energy to look away, but he did. He let his eyes fall closed, let the gold encircle him, and before he fell into the abyss he heard a chilling scream he knew as Morgana's.

* * *

**A/N:** well, this chapter was 5,000 something words long, but it was getting tedious, so I shortened it a bit. The good news is the next chapter is currently around 4,000 words. Bad news is it's no quite finished. Hopefully, I can get it up ASAP. (Any spells in this chapter and next are complete and utter nonsense, I'm sure. If any of you know Latin, feel free to have a good laugh at how bad the translations are.)

Ronja: ah yes, good question ;) Well, the fomorroh is essentially experiencing what Arthur does when he is cut off completely, and has no real perception of time or what's going on around him, only the desire to escape. So, it can't hear what Arthur, Gwaine and Merlin are planning, but it _does _want to escape, and it definitely knows they're up to something.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**A Master of Two Servants: **Morgana uses the fomorroh to manipulate Arthur into hunting down and killing Emrys. Little do they know the man they are both searching for is much closer than they think … AU of 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Warnings: **GORE – _seriously guys, if you don't particularly like blood, you might want to skip over Merlin's spell _– and violence. Spoilers up to and for 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Disclaimer: **Merlin is not mine. It belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

A Master of Two Servants

Chapter Seventeen

Arthur had been forced to watch his knights split up and scour every inch of the forest, leaving Gwaine and Merlin little chance to escape. They had found their horses almost half an hour ago, and Arthur knew that meant they were on foot now.

At least the sleet, which had now subsided, leaving a thin coat of snow over the tree branches and few dry areas, had covered up their tracks, the mud turning to brown puddles among the trees, in which no footprints were solid or traceable. But it also meant they would be slower, their previous head start most probably equating to nothing now. He took no comfort in knowing they were nearby.

Now, the fomorroh pulled at the reigns, and Arthur's horse and the men behind him both came to a halt. In the distance, he could hear not the rumble of thunder, but the progression of hooves and the braying of hounds – the sounds of a chase.

"They've found something," the fomorroh murmured, and seemed for a moment at a loss. And then Arthur felt its power snaking about him, conjoining itself momentarily with all that he knew and remembered. It knew exactly what to do.

"They are heading this way!" it shouted to the group of men behind him, all of which were on horses. There was no way Merlin and Gwaine would be able to escape them. Arthur tried desperately to get the fomorroh to _stop_, to gain control again, to do what he had done back in his chambers, because that would mean nothing if they were caught now. But the fomorroh only pushed him further back into his prison. "Follow me!"

The fomorroh knew that, if it could cut Merlin and Gwaine off, they would be surrounded. There would be no way for them to escape. It was using Arthur's own strategy against him. And, with no choice in the matter, Arthur could only watch.

* * *

It started off as a small feeling of wrongness in his chest, but by the time they had reached the clearing they'd taking refuge in earlier, letting out mutual groans of frustration when they realized they'd come full circle, though having no choice but to run onwards, Merlin could barely breathe. A deep and unfamiliar pain had spread through his nerves, and it was all he could do to keep upright. He couldn't hear what Gwaine was telling him, could barely feel the knight's hand griping tightly to his arm, pulling him along faster and faster, faster than either of them could manage. He hardly registered that they were being chased, and the sounds of the hunting patrol were nonexistent. All that he heard was the murmured words of a spell, oddly familiar, yet hauntingly new.

_Antiqua virtus_, _vos appeho_. _Cinere, surget, et iterum dominari_. Morgana's spell continued, but he could hear Gwaine shouting something, a far away sound, as though he were underwater. He could see a blur of red in front of them, and hear the drumming of feet and hooves. His stomach lurched as he was jerked violently to the side, and he could feel himself slipping and sliding, but it barely mattered. The pain was overriding, and he could think or believe little else other than, _Kilgharrah will come_.

_Exstiterunt_!

The final word of the spell was spoken not as a whisper, but as a roar, and everything went still. The last echoes of the spell were all that he heard for a while, and then everything seemed to explode around him.

It was gold, then blue; red, purple, green, and gold again. And when the spectrum of color had passed, what he saw was no better. Vaguely, he was aware that he was screaming, in pain and terror, and that someone was shouting at him, _stop, Merlin, it's all right, _but he no longer had control over himself, or what he saw.

Before him, was Albion. But it was not the land that he knew, far from it. A battlefield – though even that was too kind a word for it – spread out before him, the land black and bare, scarred by blood and the burnt blackness of fire that too had rotted away. Bodies littered the floor, of warriors that bore the mark of the Druids and Old Religion, their eyes still open, and dominated completely by gold. Even their pupils had been engulfed by the now-tainted color of magic.

And all around him, he could feel the souls of the dead. He could feel them screaming even in the afterlife, begging him to set them free. He could feel their agony, their desperation, their fear. They screamed, and he thought that he screamed with them, the pain overpowering, the anguish so raw that it tore him apart, and left him as nothing more than a small, shaking figure upon his knees, the blood of his kin soaking into his breeches, through his boots, into his _skin_, his _soul_.

He could feel the magic of the land in him still, but it was polluted. Magic was cleansing, and pure, and beautiful, but this – this was _disgusting_. It was dark and distorted, the very essence of it tainted by evil. He could not think, and for a moment all he saw was the battle – the roars of anger and cries of pain, the bathing of blood, bringing of bruises, slamming of swords and shields. And then he was gasping for breath, on his hands and knees, screams turning to sobs. His vision cleared eventually, and it was then that he saw her among the wasteland.

She was not like anyone he had ever seen before. There was something otherworldly about her, a kind of presence that seemed to require him to be on his knees – and he was glad that he had already kneeled.

It was hard to personify such beauty, such strangeness, and never would Merlin be able to describe her if he had been asked. She was everything and nothing at once, a ghost among the wreckage of her land, the first and last High Priestess of her time. A lone figure of purity among the ruin of Albion – her dress as red as a phoenix, hair white as freshly-budded snowdrops, and eyes of molten gold – the final survivor of the brutal war that had befallen them. In her hand was a Mirror, decorated with jewels he recognized as those from the Crystal Cave. He could sense its power, and it was as damaged as the land around them.

Smoke from the extinguished fires swirled about her feet, looping around her body, and he could have sworn she had grown wings, like a phoenix rising from the ashes. But she was gone before he could decide, and all that was left was a coil of black smoke that begun to take a new form. He saw the black curls first, and then the pale green eyes, and soon Morgana was stood across the battlefield. She held the Mirror too, in both her hands, and a twisted smile crossed her face when she looked over his shoulder.

He scrambled to his feet and turned around. The image blurred and came back into focus, the wasteland remaining as it had, but a new landmark standing among it – or at least what was left of a landmark. The citadel had crumbled, the palace itself nothing more than a pile of rubble. Camelot had fallen, and with it the King.

When he turned back to Morgana, she was gone, and everything around him shifted once more. Camelot was as it had been, standing strong and tall, but the streets were quiet and empty, lacking the usual excitement of a bustling city. He found himself walking through the abandoned halls of the palace until he reached the throne room. The doors opened for him.

The throne was not taken by Arthur, but Morgana. Arthur stood by her left side, as a loyal subject would, a strange sort of smile on his face that Merlin had never once seen before, in all his years of knowing the man. It was as though he were smirking, the same way he had often seen Morgana do. The look was sinister and dark, and it made Merlin shiver.

Guinevere was there as well, to Morgana's right. She too looked as though she served the new Queen, a similarly sinister look in her dark eyes. Agravaine was stood somewhere to the back, triumphant and ever loyal.

The room filled suddenly, and Camelot came alive once more. The throne room looked ready for trial, the knights, all excluding Gwaine, stood around him. Outside, he could hear the usual sounds of Camelot, somewhat more reserved than normal, but familiar all the same. This would have been the Camelot he remembered, if Morgana did not sit upon the throne.

She looked up at Arthur, grinning. The words were hissed, barely audible, but Merlin heard them anyway.

"_Kill Emrys_."

Arthur stepped forward, and the world jerked away from Merlin again. He was tumbling backwards, through an eternity of memories that had yet to pass, and yet to be sequenced, but he knew were coming.

A small drop of blood, falling from an arrow he recognized as one that all knights of Camelot used while hunting with bows, fell onto the reflective glass of the Mirror. It snaked out, an image beginning to form, but he didn't get the chance to see what it was before the vision changed.

Merlin was standing in the courtyard. Gwen clung to his arm, her cheeks wet with tears, and even though she had hold of what appeared to be Gwaine's sword, she seemed to be relying on him for protection. They were starring up at the balcony where Morgana and Arthur stood side by side. Behind them, the courtyard had been set up for a hanging.

In the very same courtyard, Gwaine was shouting something, holding in one hand a large jar in which the mother beast of the fomorroh was trapped and in the other the Grimoire. He was running backwards, away from Merlin, making loud promises. Morgana screamed, and everything changed again.

This time, Arthur was standing in front of him, a sadistic hollowness in his eyes. They were in the tunnels underneath Camelot. Merlin backed away, stumbling over the uneven ground, and then Arthur was drawing the knife he had given Morgana all those years ago, the one she had almost killed Uther with.

Morgana was screaming still. So was he, he realized. The sounds of their cries faded when the next vision appeared before him.

Morgana was there, the both of them standing on the courtyard cobblestones, the Mirror lying some distance away. They stood close together, face to face, and the smiles that they gave each other were far from friendly. Still, a sense of urgency filled him, and he felt himself drawn to the Mirror, his fingers twitching in desperation to reach for it. He scrambled away from her suddenly, leaping for the Mirror, but something sent him flying backwards.

Gold obscured his vision.

Morgana's screaming stopped. The world was quiet, and momentarily empty.

* * *

It was a relief to be finally free of the visions, but he returned to consciousness to find he could hardly move, and that his whole body _burned_, as though he had run through each of the visions he'd seen, and to and from the eras he had visited, and as though the gold that still danced before his eyes, little specks that were begging to fade, were sparks that had spread over his skin. Gwaine was looming over him, looking more morbid than Merlin had even seen him.

"What happened?"

"Where are the knights?" Merlin asked groggily, refusing to reply, or accept the hand Gwaine held out to him. He wasn't sure he'd be able to stand up just yet.

"I don't know what you did," Gwaine replied, looking somewhat awe-struck. "Or even _how _you did it, but… Gods, you really _are _Emrys..." he cursed a number of times, and then paced back and forth, up and down the ravine.

Merlin remained where he was, relishing how cool the ground was against his head and his back, and knowing that he should say something, but finding himself unable to move from his position. It hurt, and trying to get up would only cause further discomfort – so, for the moment, he stayed, although he did break the silence, voice somewhat apprehensive when he recalled how many times he had accidently used his magic, and done something ridiculous and supposedly impossible, for which there was no spell. "Gwaine, what happened?"

Gwaine appeared to have cooled down slightly, his nerves dissipated by his pacing, and took a seat beside Merlin. "One moment we were surrounded by knights, moments away from being run through by Arthur, and then we were here – wherever _here_ is."

Merlin frowned. "Just like that?"

"Yeah." Gwaine nodded, and swallowed heavily. "And you were screaming like–like…. Merlin, what _happened_?"

"Do you recognize this place?" Merlin asked, hoping to avoid the question. How did he explain what had happened? That he had felt the agony of a thousand souls, witnessed the most brutal battle he prayed he would ever see; that he had seen what could become of them all, and he didn't yet know if it boded well for any of them? "I think we've been here before."

"Answer the question."

"We've definitely been here. I remember–_oh_. That explains it." Merlin felt himself pale. "This is where Morgana left me, after…"

Merlin remembered, very briefly, healing himself when he was here. He had been on the very brink of death, and he knew if he didn't do something he would have lost the battle. So his magic had reacted. It was the strongest magic he had used in a long, long time, and it had sparked up a connection of sorts with this place and himself, which was most probably why he was able to transport them both here subconsciously. He doubted he would be able to do it again, despite the sudden surge of magic that Morgana's spell appeared to have sparked within him. It had been an instinctive reaction, and Camelot and Ealdor were the only other place he had such a connection with.

"So it is." Gwaine didn't look away from Merlin's pale face. "But that has absolutely nothing to do with what I asked you."

"Gwaine, I can't–"

"Are you going to tell me _anything_?" Gwaine snapped, on his feet again. "Where we're going, who this friend of yours is, what the _hell _happened – or are you just going to let me come to my own conclusions? Because I'm tired of being out of the loop, and I'm tired of running, and I'm just _so_–Lords, Merlin, I thought you were dying, and what–well, it would have be my fault. Again. And Camelot and Arthur… I can't even begin to think what would happen to them if I let anything happen to _you_."

Merlin struggled upright, arms shaking as they struggled to support his weak body. His chest and shoulder ached terribly, and he had to lean against the rocky wall of the ravine behind him in order to stay sitting. But he needed to apologize to Gwaine, and he needed the knight to understand. "What do you want me to say?"

"The truth."

"Well," Merlin said. "There's going to be a dragon."

"A what?"

"A dragon, if he ever arrives. Two dragons, most likely."

"But–"

"And a number of sorcerers. Probably a few Druids."

"Wait–"

"In a safe house of sorts, I suppose. You won't know about it; I would be surprised if anyone in Camelot, except Gaius, knew of such a place."

Gwaine looked somewhat nonplussed. "Well, that's good to know."

"And I'm sorry," Merlin went on. "For all of this. You're a loyal friend, Gwaine. Thank you."

Looking both touched and uncomfortable with such praise, Gwaine scrubbed his hand over his haggard, unshaven face and shook his head. "Don't thank me yet. Arthur's still close, and we need to get out of here. Do you think you can get up?"

"I can try."

_Try_, Merlin most definitely did, but succeed, however, was a whole different matter. His legs were all but useless, and Gwaine had half-joked about resorting to giving the servant a piggyback, but in the end they settled back into their previous routine of one step at a time, stumbling through the forest like they'd just had their first taste of alcohol.

The sounds of the patrol, which had ranged from nonexistent to a faint whisper of frustrated dogs or cantering horses, drew closer and louder again, and they were forced to up the pace somewhat, until Gwaine was running and Merlin was dragging, half-conscious, behind him, half-listening as the knight grumbled about how he should have stolen a horse for them both.

By the time they reached the less dense area of the forest – where Merlin knew that if Kilgharrah never came because of some disastrous event, or Morgana's storm had delayed him to the point where they would make it to the safe house before the dragon made it to them, then Gwaine would at least be able to get to safety if he so happened to pass out again (which was looking like a very real possibility; he could barely see, his vision obscured by remnants of what he had saw in his visions, haunting and bloody images of war and pain, destruction and death) – a small number of knights were on them, waiting to attack. Most were archers, awaiting the signal to shoot; there wasn't many of them, perhaps only four of five, but they would be skilled, and well enough trained and equipped to take them both down in a matter of minutes.

Eventually, when the minute game of cat and mouse could continue no longer, Gwaine drew his sword, depositing Merlin by the side of a small, nearby stream, and stood to face them. The servant had only stared at him through half-lidded eyes, as if seeing nothing, and Gwaine wondered if he was unconscious, or reliving whatever he made him scream so terribly only an hour earlier. He squeezed Merlin's uninjured shoulder, eliciting no response, and stood to face the knights.

The knights – there were five of them, Gwaine counted – stepped out from behind the trees in synchronization, and drew their arrows back to shoot, looking slightly aggrieved to have to kill one of their own, yet determined to follow their orders.

"Well, this is hardly fair," Gwaine drawled, with a devious smile. "You outnumber me five to one."

Lionel, one of least-caring knights, who would most probably be happy to see the end of the foolish, drunkard of a commoner Arthur had been so stupid as to grant a knighthood, smirked cruelly. "Never stopped you before, has it, _Sir Gwaine_?"

"No." Gwaine's smile grew. "Never."

One of the younger knights, Celyn, who had been part of the group of fifteen-or-so young men Gwaine had had taken on this year, to be knighted around Yuletide if their initiation went well, took a deep breath, which shook the same way the arrow did against his bow. The boy was good – the best archer of the one hundred boys in total (much more than usual, now that Arthur had abolished the rule about only taking on men of noble blood) that had come of age, and signed up for their introduction to knighthood – and had most probably been taken on the hunt as a training exercise, told to chose and exercise his best weapon, but he was, like the others, young and inexperienced, nervous and a far more used to chasing down wayward cattle, not knights and sorcerers. Gwaine locked eyes with him for a moment, before looking to Lionel once more.

Gwaine turned his sword over in his hand, in a wide and sweeping motion, both challenging and showcasing his skill. "So, are we going to do this the fair way, or are you content with ruining your conscience, _Sir Lionel_? Put down your bows and arrows, and fight me like proper men. Or are you too afraid? Perhaps we should wait for your backup." He paused, listening to the approaching sound of the hunt. "They shouldn't be long now."

Lionel didn't lower his bow, but two of the other knights did, as well as Celyn – although Celyn didn't draw his sword as they did. Only Gaheris kept his arrow firmly ready with Lionel, pointed straight at Gwaine. He, too, did not approve of Arthur's decision to knight peasants, and would be most likely to join Lionel on a celebratory trip to the tavern should they eliminate what they essentially saw as 'outsiders'.

"Lower your bows," Sir Cador ordered. Gwaine gave him a grateful nod, which the knight purposefully ignored. They had been good friends, but that would matter little now, and could not continue while Gwaine was considered a traitor. "You heard him – this is not a fair fight. Now _lower your bows_!"

"Who said anything about a fair fight?" Lionel demanded. "He is a traitor. Why should we grant him mercy?"

"He was once one of us. Perhaps he does not deserve mercy, but we will give it to him anyway, traitor or no, because he was once one of us," Cador continued. "Lower your bows, and fight the way the King himself taught us as fair."

Lionel, lips curling in disgust at the oldest knight of their small group, threw his bow aside and drew his sword. Gaheris, a moment later, did the same. Now, all had their swords drawn, save for Celyn. They stood ready to fight.

"Now, this is more like it." Gwaine glanced behind him once, knowing that he would have to fight, and hoping Merlin would be conscious should he need to defend himself. He could just see the man's shoes, soaked in mud, peeking out from behind the rocks Gwaine had set him against. "Shall we begin?"

Gwaine didn't want to kill any of them. Save for Lionel and Gaheris, the other knights didn't seem too keen on the idea either. Celyn stood away from the group, sword still firmly in scabbard, and none of them made a move to attack, even though Lionel rocked back and forth on his feet, as if ready to pounce, but waiting for someone else to make the first move.

In the end, it was Gwaine. He knew he had to do something; the patrol was getting closer and closer, and he and Merlin needed to escape, _and _somehowconvince the fomorroh (and consequently Morgana) that Emrys was dead. He had no time to be standing around in a stalemate with his fellow knights, and as much as it pained him, he charged forward, giving a roar of warning before his sword was met with Lionel's, and he was parrying with the knight while the others tried to get their own blows in.

Lionel had always been better with a crossbow and bow, his sword skills somewhat sloppy and undeveloped. It was as easy to beat him then as it was every other time in training, and he landed a clear enough hit to knock the knight out almost straight away. He didn't kill him, and would refuse to kill any of them, but he would be out for a while – long enough for Merlin and Gwaine to make their escape.

He took on Gaheris and Cador next, at the same time. Both were incredibly skilled warriors, both with arrows and bolts, and swords and spears. Gaheris had a somewhat more brutal style, which worked mostly in his favor, but putting such vigor into each of his strikes knocked him off balance. Gwaine managed to push him back, so that he toppled over Lionel's still form, but not before the knight got a clear swipe at Gwaine's thigh, where his armor and mail didn't protect him.

The pain threw Gwaine off somewhat, and Gaheris' fall served little advantage. Cador and Gaheris were coming at him again, and he had no choice but to fight, ignoring the way it aggravated the gash on his leg, and the blood that was staining his breeches.

This time, he focused on Cador. The older knight had severely injured his left leg in battle a number of years ago, and had since developed a style subconsciously centered around protecting the old injury, and current weak spot. Most of his blows came from below, and he didn't protect the upper part of his body as much as the lower. Gwaine used this to his advantage, throwing Cador off with a heavy blow that sent his sword toppling the forest floor and then landing another clean blow to the head, which would render him unconscious for a similar amount of time to Lionel.

Gaheris came at him again, along with Sir Aglovale, who had been waiting and assessing him moment to join the fray. He was quick – much quicker than both Gaheris and Gwaine. Gwaine barely had time to block blows from both directions, and almost suffered a blow to the head himself when he chose to block Aglovale's attack, and leave himself venerable to Gaheris' own onslaught. He had been forced to move backwards with each blow, until he was standing in front of Cador's body. Quickly, in between blows, he reached down to take the knight's sword, and managed to block two blows at once. Gaheris went down then, knocking himself out on a rock, and only Aglovale was left.

Aglovale's agility and speed was well known among the knights, and it took Gwaine a long time to get the knight in a venerable position. In the end, Gwaine allowed the knight to attack him with all his might, putting minimal effort into blocking until Aglovale's energy had been spent. Then, when the other knight's attacks grew sluggish, he used his own reserved energy to overpower him, knocking his sword to the ground and then slamming the pummel of Cador's sword against his skull.

That left Celyn, who stood to the side, wide-eyed and waiting. Gwaine threw down one of his swords, then the other, and held both hands up in a placating motion. If Gwaine played this right, Celyn would be one of their greatest allies in their not-quite-as-planned escape.

"Celyn," Gwaine begun, lowering his hands so they rested at his side. When Celyn unsheathed his sword, defensive and defiant, unsure yet determined, Gwaine raised them again. "_Celyn_. How about you put your sword down, and we handle this more peacefully than, uh…" he nodded behind him, where the rest of the knights were scattered, unconscious, on the rocks.

Celyn steeled himself and raised his sword, voice quivering slightly when he said, "You are a traitor, sir. I follow my laws, and my King; and to do so, I will most definitely need my sword at hand."

"Treason, I think you'll find," Gwaine replied, with a slight upturn of his lips, despite the heavy feeling in his stomach at knowing he had let the boy down, when it was his job to give him someone to look up to. "Is a rather vague term."

"You are an enemy of Camelot."

"Camelot's own _King _is an enemy of Camelot."

Celyn looked thoroughly confused. "You–you have lost your wits, sir."

"Nah." Gwaine gave a slight shake of his head. "But Arthur has. Sort of. Lower the sword, and I'll tell you everything."

"You can tell me just as well with a sword to your throat."

Gwaine grinned, feeling rather proud of his young prodigy. "Well, then, if you're going to be like that–give me a moment, would you?"

Before the boy could protest, Gwaine had ducked behind the rock he'd set Merlin against, bending down so that he was level with the servant. Merlin's eyes rolled to meet his, unfocused and haunted, and not really seeing him, and Gwaine swallowed, forcing himself to smile even when Merlin appeared as unresponsive as before.

"Merlin." Gwaine shook his shoulder gently, so not to disturb the wounds on his chest, which he could see were bleeding through his bandages. "_Merlin_. You need to snap out of it. Come on, mate, I need your help."

It took a while, and a lot of shaking, but eventually Merlin blinked up at him, and seemed to _see _him properly. Gwaine let out shaky sigh of relief, and beamed at the servant.

"Where–?" Merlin frowned, looking around.

"I'll explain later." Gwaine extended his hand, helping Merlin to his feet and holding the servant steady. "But for now, we need the spell."

Merlin, still somewhat disorientated, nodded.

When they turned back around to face Celyn, the boy had reclaimed his bow and was holding an arrow firmly in position, ready to strike either of them through the heart. He appeared to be aiming for Merlin, though the arrow quivered slightly in his hands when he saw the man they had truly been hunting.

"Celyn," Gwaine said cheerily, ignoring the raised weapon. Merlin glanced worriedly at him, but appeared too drained to muster a proper reaction to being face to face with a future knight of Camelot, who they both knew was better with a bow and arrow than any of the young recruits, and possibly even the more practiced, older knights, and had not been known to miss the target yet. "Still here, I see. Brilliant. Yes, well, as I was saying, _we _need your help. See, you may think we are the enemies here, but Camelot faces a much greater threat from us – and this time it's coming from all sides, inside and out. And from the very man that had raised Camelot to its full glory, and whom currently sits upon the throne."

"What has the King got to do with this?" Celyn demanded.

"Oh, he has everything to do with it. And his deranged witch of a half-sister, as you will be not be so surprised to know," Gwaine continued. "Morgana is planning to attack, and she has–_possessed_, shall we say, the King. It is an invasion she's planning, and Camelot she wants, but with Emrys here in the way, she knows her plotting will be thwarted yet again. So she has found a rather clever way of eliminating such a threat – and, as you've probably guessed, it has all lead up to this. The moment of truth, I suppose; whether she can win Camelot over, or whether Camelot remains loyal to the values it has been built upon. For if you kill us both now, there will be little hope, and, in all likelihood, she would have won the war before it has even begun. But if you spare us, Celyn, then you can spare Camelot."

Celyn looked ready to lower his bow, but he held firm, confliction glimmering in his young eyes. "He is _Emrys_. He has magic. That is treason of the highest kind."

"Treason of the highest kind is the evil Morgana continues to practice. And if you do not help us, then there will be no one to stop her, and Camelot itself will be a kingdom of treachery and betrayal. A kingdom cannot bear the weight of such darkness, Celyn; Camelot will fall."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because I was once one of you. I still _am _one of you," Gwaine reasoned. "I have taught you and prepared you for this moment, and I would have failed in those duties if you chose now to follow the path of evil."

Celyn lowered his bow, and still unsure, asked, "What would you have me do?"

* * *

Not long later, when they had managed to lead the patrol astray for a little while longer, the three of them stood in the stream, the water swirling about their boots, as Merlin had requested. The half-lucid servant swayed unsteadily between Gwaine and Celyn, but was determined to do the spell despite his worsening condition.

When Merlin had first begun to practice the spell, he had never particularly thought he would need it. It was one of the most peculiar spells in the Grimoire, and when he had discussed it briefly with Gwaine in the stables, before their escape from Camelot, the knight had appeared awe-struck that such a spell was in existence, as well as somewhat disgusted at the strange ways in which the incarnation was supposed to be practiced, as listed in the book. He had also been worried that such a spell would be too draining, or would go wrong – after all, Merlin had only practiced on the unfortunate frogs that Gaius had captured for his potion-making, and he had not participated in such activities too often, for it _was _overly tiring and bordering on dark magic (necromancy, to be exact). Still, it was their best and most reliable option, if they pulled it off, so it would have to work.

At least, with the strange storm Morgana seemed to have brought, there was a new buzz of magic in the air, a new sense of power. It called to him, begging to be used, begging to be set free. Magic had come alive all over again with Morgana's spell, and it wanted _him_.

Celyn shifted nervously beside Merlin, having been told about what such a spell would involve, and looking a little green at the prospect. But he handed Merlin one of his arrows without a word, and the servant thanked him before slicing the head across his palm in one quick, swift motion, to avoid having to think about the task for too long, and attempting to minimize the pain.

They watched as Merlin, eyes closed in concentration, extended his red-washed palm so that it pointed downwards, blood dropping into the water below and staining it first pink, and then a much more vivid red, until they stood in what looked much like wine.

Then, creeping slowly through the crimson like the first strings of ivy wrapping itself tightly around the trunk of a tree, some of the pure water returned, at first colorless, but soon taking up the dim, but indescribably beautiful golden glow of magic. Soon, the gold and red mingled, the same way the Pendragon crest seemed to dance among the red of the knight's cloaks, and the tainted water begun to flow higher and stronger around their shoes. The wind picked up behind them, turning in the same circular motions as the swirling reds and golds in the water, and suddenly, everything was _alive_.

The word seemed more focused, somehow, more real. Each particle seemed to dance and vibrate around them, the air golden and warm, living and breathing with them. Each movement, from the burrowing of animals below the ground to the rhythmic rocking of trees above them, slowed, and it was almost as though they could see the breeze that caused such swaying, and witness the force that allowed the creatures to dig deeper into the earth.

But the most of the force was concentrated on the water, which begun to solidify, and take shape. The gold formed a patchwork, the blood still flowing among it, until the undistinguished outline of a body appeared in the water. Gold bonds grew tighter still, some of the blood turning to water, and then taking up the pale tones of skin and dark smatterings of hair. As the wind begun to fade, and the world retook normality, a dull stillness overtaking it once more, the body grew in resemblance to the man whose blood it had been crafted from.

Both Gwaine and Celyn turned away, and Merlin kept his eyes firmly closed, as the spell came to an end. The remaining blood slithered around the duplicate's still form, snaking up his arms and across his chest, forming a web around where the heart should be. In one swift movement, the web was retracted, sucked into a circular whirlpool of sorts in the exact position of the heart. And then the world and the water settled, and Merlin, with what appeared to be a mortal arrow wound, lay at Gwaine, Celyn and real, living Merlin's feet.

Merlin opened his eyes, took in his handiwork with the impassive expression of a physician's apprentice, and turned to Gwaine. The knight didn't need to draw fresh blood; the wound to his leg was still bleeding, and it was enough for Merlin to repeat the process with. This time, he did not finish the spell with a fake arrow wound, but rather an injury appeared to have been made with a sword, again straight through the heart. When they had finished, they pulled the false bodies from the water, placing Gwaine next to Cador's bloodied sword and Merlin's a little further away. The servant still held onto the arrow, turning it over in his hands, and when he went to place it by the body, he stopped halfway.

A violent pain tore through his head, and he saw again the Mirror in Morgana's hands, crimson threads of blood pooling over the glass. This time, however, he saw exactly what illusion appeared on the Mirror's surface.

Celyn pulled back the arrow, and released. It sailed straight towards Merlin, who had no time to react, landing a clear and accurate shot – piercing through his heart, and killing him almost instantly.

Morgana looked up at the two people that stood before her: Arthur, and Celyn. A wide grin stole at her features.

"You have done well," she said.

Both men bowed their heads to the praise. She stood suddenly, to address the entire court, her smile growing. "The mighty Emrys had been slain! He will trouble us no more, and so tonight, we shall celebrate! Inform the people; today is a day of festivity!"

The cheers and roars of the court faded, and Merlin was aware of a strong hand on his shoulder, and someone calling his name.

"–Merlin? _Merlin_?" Gwaine was asking. "Are you all right, mate?"

Shakily, he nodded and extended the arrow to Celyn. "Give this to Arthur yourself."

Celyn took the arrow from him with equally unsteady hands. "And the, uh, the bodies, sir? What am I to do with them?"

"Make sure he burns them," Merlin replied. "As soon as possible."

"And if he does not?"

"Leave them to the river. Do not allow him to return either to Camelot."

Celyn nodded. "I will try my best."

"I'm sure you will." Merlin smiled at the young boy. "Thank you, Celyn."

"Camelot will be safe in your hands?" Celyn asked, returning the smile somewhat nervously.

"I shall try my best also."

"Then I should be thanking you," the soon-to-be knight bowed his head, and added, "Emrys."

Merlin bowed his own head in gratitude and modesty, touched by the boy's faith.

Gwaine stepped forward, looking rather pleased himself, and placed a hand on Celyn's shoulder. "The coming weeks – months, if it comes to that – will be hard on Camelot, and its people. But you must remain strong. We will not let Camelot fall. Now, I think we have a dragon to meet."

Celyn looked as though he wanted to ask about the dragon, but didn't mention it as they said their goodbyes. Soon, Merlin and Gwaine were on their way – a little worse for wear, though strong enough, they hoped, to make it to the safe house alone, or to wherever the dragon may be – and Celyn stood waiting for the patrol to arrive, to play his part in Camelot's survival.

He didn't have long to wait.

* * *

First came the dogs, loud and overzealous, pouncing about the lone figure beside the stream, and the bodies littered around him. Next was the patrol, hammering across the stream on their horses, water leaping up beneath the hooves, the entire stampede coming to an abrupt and somewhat startled stop when they caught sight of Celyn, holding a bloodied arrow in one hand and his bow in the other.

Arthur, still very much under the control of the fomorroh, was of his horse first, swinging from the saddle before the steed had even stopped. He stormed at Celyn, but before he reached the boy, he found himself slowing, and then coming to a complete standstill. Celyn followed his gaze to where they had left the false bodies of Merlin and Gwaine.

For a moment, everything was still, save for the slow, but unending, trickle of the stream. And then Arthur's stuttering steps begun again, and he was on his knees beside the servant, hand on the man's shoulder.

Perhaps Arthur's own cold, consuming fear had imprinted on the fomorroh, for it seemed as momentarily desperate as he was, shaking the servant's shoulder once, twice, three times, knowing it would get no response, and yet almost daring the dead man to open his eyes and announce that no, of course he wasn't dead. But, as they had both expected, nothing happened.

He ripped the gloves from his hands, pressing his fingers to Merlin's neck. Nothing.

Merlin was dead.

_Emrys _was dead.

In an instant, the fomorroh had Arthur on his feet – and for that, he was glad, because he wasn't sure he could bear to look at the body any longer, even if something in his chest told him it was wrong, that it couldn't be true, that they had planned this and it had to be a guise, a spell. It had to be. _It had to be_.

"Did you kill him?" the fomorroh demanded, storming at Celyn and gripping the young boy's cloak in his ungloved hands. "Was it you? _Did you kill Emrys_?"

"Y–yes, sire," Celyn stammered nervously in reply. There was something in his eyes though, something only Arthur saw. A knowing edge. "It was I who killed Emrys."

"Sire," another of the knights cut in, also looking somewhat nervous, and sorrowful. "Sir Gwaine is also dead."

His grip tightened on Celyn's cloak. "Him as well?"

Slowly, shakily, Celyn shook his head. "No, sire. That was Sir Cador, sire."

(Gwaine and Merlin had convinced Celyn earlier that it would be easy enough to tell Cador that he'd killed Gwaine, and pretend that he'd hit his head so hard he didn't remember doing it.)

"You have killed Emrys," the fomorroh whispered, caring little for Gwaine, only than that he was no longer a threat, and turned, letting go of the startled boy's cloak and raising his voice to address the knights. "Emrys is dead!"

Most had the decency to look mournful, and perhaps even ashamed, despite the King's obvious glee. A few, who were glad to see the disrespectful servant go, joined in with the celebrations.

"We must return to Camelot and announce the good news!" the fomorroh said, and Arthur, knowing what he had to do, what part he would have to play in this, forced all he had into influencing the fomorroh to add, "Dispose of the bodies."

"Sire," Sir Bors, one of the older knights, who had not gone with Leon because of a reoccurring injury, stepped forward. "The Court Physician will want–"

Arthur thought of Gauis and Gwen, of how he would have no way of telling them that Merlin and Gwaine were really alive – because they were, _they had to be _– of how he had sent them away for their own good. They would think them both dead, mourn for the both. And he would be unable to help them, to take away their pain. All he could do was hope that they had left Camelot, and that they would know, somehow. Because it would be for their better good, in the long run, as much as it hurt them all.

So, as subtly as he had before, in order to keep his motives hidden from the serpent, he used the fomorroh's hate and his own memories of tradition to manipulate it into saying, "Burn them. They are not worth our time, and I will not have either _traitor _within the citadel, dead or no."

"Sire–" Bors protested, but the fomorroh had already moved onto other things.

"How was _Emrys _killed?" the fomorroh asked of Celyn – it had paid little attention to the wound, more focused on discovering whether Merlin lived or not.

"With this very arrow, sire." Celyn held out the arrow to the King. The fomorroh took it willingly, turning it over in his hands. "It pierced the sorcerer's heart. He died almost instantly."

"You have done well," the fomorroh replied absently, fixated on the arrow. "You will be rewarded. And this arrow shall be treasured, for it was the mundane end of the _mighty _Emrys!"

Celyn bowed his head and, when dismissed, went to help with Merlin and Gwaine's unceremonious funeral.

* * *

Neither Arthur nor the fomorroh watched the burning. Arthur wasn't sure any of the knights did either; they would do as ordered, and build the pyres, but they wouldn't watch. Not out of disrespect, certainly not. No, they wouldn't watch because Gwaine and Merlin had been their friends – and if not _their_ friends, but the King's – and the men they seemed to be laying to rest were not the men they knew, but traitors. They weren't the men they knew. So they turned their backs on their guilt and their sorrow, and found it easier to walk away from it all, then face the truth.

The wounded were seen to. Cador, Aglovale, Gaheris and Lionel were treated, and prepared for their return to Camelot.

The fomorroh was satisfied. It had served its purpose; Emrys was dead. It didn't matter who had killed the sorcerer, in the end, so long as he no longer posed a threat to Morgana. And as far as it was concerned, Emrys was no more.

Now, the fomorroh could rest. Now, the fomorroh was satisfied. It had nothing left, now that it had completed Morgana's orders.

But Arthur, on the journey back, felt a new sense of purpose. Morgana had no use for him now, but he was determined. Determined to go on, determined not to let his kingdom fall to wreck and ruin because he had given in.

When he turned back, he could have sworn he saw a silhouette dragon rising from the smoke that still drifted from the pyres they had made, above the trees and to the black, empty sky. For a moment, he was sure that it was a fragment of his imagination.

But then he felt it, deep within his soul, where even the fomorroh could not reach: strength and magic.

And he knew, somehow, that there was hope yet.

* * *

**A/N: **random and probably useless fact: Celyn, pronounced _kel-in_, was apparently one of Arthur's knights in _Culhwch and Olwen _(the legend which the fake story behind Ysbaddaden's Mount is based on). I just like the name, though, whether that's true or not.

And whoa, how long is this chapter? See, this is why I had to cut this one and the last in half.

And over 100 reviews! *does happy dance* Thank you all so much for your follows, favourites and reviews!


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**A Master of Two Servants: **Morgana uses the fomorroh to manipulate Arthur into hunting down and killing Emrys. Little do they know the man they are both searching for is much closer than they think … AU of 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Warnings: **gore and violence. Spoilers up to and for 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Disclaimer: **Merlin is not mine. It belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

A Master of Two Servants

Chapter Eighteen

Having arrived at the palace in the earliest hours of the morning, the sun yet to rise, most of the servants had already retired; but a young boy, no older than thirteen, had informed Arthur, in passing, that the Court Physician and Lady Guinevere had left Camelot late the previous night, before the King took leave himself to his own chambers.

The room was cold and empty, the fire left unlit and the furniture untouched. Instead of the disorganized mess he usually found – his manservant, of course, responsible and always nearby enough for Arthur to berate over the matter – his chambers were pristine. He almost didn't recognize them; it certainly did not feel like home.

What caught his attention second was what rested upon his desk. The ornate crown, decorated by well-polished rubies and amethysts, that Morgana had worn during her previous attack on Camelot had been placed in the center, with a small note propped up in front of it.

_Your final orders_, it read in Morgana's recognizable writing. Then, below, _we will be seeing each other soon._

For sometime, allowed far more freedom in his own body now that the fomorroh appeared to have gone into retreat, Arthur sat at his desk with the crown held between his fingers, resting just above the tabletop. When he finally dragged himself into bed, he fell into sleep dreading what the morning would bring.

However, it wasn't long before he was woken from his oddly calming dreams of rocky shores and rushing waves – it felt almost as though he was in Gedref – by a quiet and polite knock on his door. It was still dark outside, but the sun would be rising soon. It was a new day, now.

Even so, couldn't he just get some sleep?

Arthur had learnt that by now the fomorroh cared little for the state of its vessel, only, like most parasites, that it was functional enough for whatever its purpose was, but cursed the serpent anyhow as he hobbled to the door. His feet, legs and shoulders ached from their hunt and his head throbbed from lack of sleep. Whoever was at the door would not get the warmest of welcomes from Arthur. But then again, they might be lucky; the fomorroh still had _some _control, after all.

Throwing the door open, rather pleased that the fomorroh seemed to have gone into retreat now that it thought Emrys was dead, and was allowing him to act on his own accord, he squinted into the dimly lit corridor and snapped, "What–? _Leon_."

He saw his hand tighten around the door, his knuckles turn white. He was quite sure he looked like a fish that had been swimming merrily along and getting on with its aquatic life when, out of nowhere, it had been yanked from the water for someone's supper. But Leon only smiled. Not the smile Arthur would expect, but a blank, if somewhat cold, smile. It was nothing like the beaming grins he usually got from his knights when they returned from patrols, glad to be home, happy to see their King and, of course, relieved to have access to the palace kitchens again.

_Morgana_. What had she done? Arthur knew that she had been using the knights for something, even if the fomorroh kept him very much in the dark over exactly what their purpose was in its mistress' scheming.

Hiding his suspicion, he forced a smile, which most probably looked as odd to Leon as Leon's had to him – though if Leon was under some kind of spell, Arthur doubted he even noticed. "Leon, it's good to see you."

"It is good to see you too, sire," Leon replied in a flat and uncaring voice. "But I'm afraid I'm not here on a social visit."

Arthur's teeth grinded together in an attempt to sustain his reluctant half-smile. "If you are here to discuss the matter of Emrys, then surely–"

"The Lady Morgana wishes to see you in her chambers," Leon interrupted. Morgana's name was the only thing he said with any sort of passion. "It cannot wait."

Arthur almost fell over in his shock. His thoughts reeled furiously as he tried to find something to say, his mouth opening, but not real words coming out, only an unintelligible stutter of denial. _In her chambers_. Morgana was _here_, in Camelot? No. That was impossible.

"She has requested your presence _immediately_, Sire."

The fomorroh, although eager to see Morgana, seemed far too relaxed to influence his decision a great deal. It was Arthur who forced his thoughts into order, then rationalization, and nodded slightly, unable to avoid doubting his sudden and most likely foolish decision. "Of course."

Leon bowed slightly and set off down the corridor, in the direction of Morgana's old chambers, which had been abandoned and left to cobwebs and mice since her betrayal. No one had been permitted to enter for at least a year and the last time Arthur had ventured there, the room was already a cold, rotting mess. He wondered if Morgana had remedied that. Of course she had, he told himself, because she intended to live in them.

She intended to stay in Camelot.

The journey was shorter than he remembered, most likely because he paid very little attention to anything other than his turbulent thoughts, desperate to answer some of the questions that ran rampage through his mind. Leon was opening the door and motioning him inside before Arthur even realized they'd arrived. He watched the knight bow and back out of the room, before turning uneasily to the table that, what felt like a long, long time ago, he had sat and joked at.

Morgana sat at its head, a goblet in her hand and amused smirk playing across her lips as she watched him take a brief look around the room, which had been righted so that they almost looked homey, and then draw his sword, advancing stormily towards her.

With a chuckle, Morgana lifted her index finger from the goblet. He stopped abruptly, feeling as though he had walked straight into a wall. From the way Morgana chortled at him, that had been the desired effect.

"Need I remind you that I am a _High Priestess_," she said, sickeningly sweet and horrifically terrifying. "And I have yet to dismiss the fomorroh that has, these past weeks, dictated your _every _move."

"What have you done to my knights?" Arthur demanded. Morgana's spell had paralyzed him, but he still had some control of his mouth, even if moving his jaw felt like trying to swim in a pond that had had its waters replaced with honey.

"_Your _knights?" Morgana continued to laugh at him. "They have had a change of loyalties, it would seem. They are _my _knight now."

"_What have you done_?" Arthur said again, through gritted teeth.

"Why don't you sit down?" Morgana said, releasing her spell on him. "We have much to discuss."

The fomorroh, as if summoned, had him sheath his sword and take a seat at the table. It retreated again as soon as he was seated, but remained enough in control to keep him sitting, allowing him only freedom of speech. "If you ever hope to–"

Morgana held up a finger again. His mouth clamped unintentionally shut. "I think I shall decide what we discuss. Now tell me, has your hunt for Emrys been successful?"

Arthur said nothing.

"I'm no fool, Arthur," Morgana drawled. Arthur saw the impatience and fury mingling in her eyes. "I'm sure you were as curious as I was to discover his identity. So please, do enlighten me or we'll put the fomorroh to good use… or, even better, we can practice a spell I've been working on for quite a while now. That would certainly get me the answers I want."

Arthur swallowed past the tightness in his throat, pushed away all the memories he had of Merlin, good or bad, because he was alive, _he was_, and said evenly, "Emrys is dead."

For a while, Morgana said nothing. The silence was dangerous, the look in her eyes more so. Arthur couldn't tell if the news was a relief, or simply fuelled her ever-present rage at the mysterious (though not so mysterious now) sorcerer. On the table, her hands tightened into fists and her eyes flashed at Arthur as though she couldn't _stand _him, as though she would strangle him right there and then. Arthur half expected her to.

But eventually, after an antagonizing eternity, she smiled darkly, still dangerous, still devious, and asked coolly, "How?"

"An arrow to the heart," Arthur replied.

She made a small, amused sound. "How mundane. Where is his body?"

Arthur was quite sure she was going to kill him anyway, so he smiled triumphantly, all too antagonizing, and told her, "There isn't one."

Morgana stalled briefly, as if not believing what she heard. Her lips curled into a harsh snarl. "What do you mean, _there isn't one_?"

"He's dead, believe me." Arthur, simply to spite her, used the little control he had to reach for a nearby, unused goblet and, with the jug near one of Morgana's clenched fists, pour himself a glass of wine that he drunk gladly, but with the casual manner of someone with nothing to lose. "But you won't be seeing his body. We burnt it."

In a flash, the goblet was knocked from his hands and across the room, wine spilling across the flagstones and staining his nightclothes. Before he had even blinked, a hand was around his throat and Morgana was leaning over him, eyes wide and manic, and filled with a fury that made them burn even brighter than when she cast a spell. Arthur just smiled up at her – but it might have been more of a grimace, since he couldn't breathe.

"You defied the fomorroh," she breathed in shocked realization. "You defied _me_."

Arthur tried to chuckle. It came out as a strangled wheeze. Her other hand found its way around his throat.

"How?" she demanded. When Arthur gave her a look that said, _you have your hands around my throat, how am I supposed to answer?_ She let go with a frustrated shriek, slamming his head against the back of his chair before retreating back to her seat with the speed and stealth of a snake that had just caught its prey. "How? _Answer me_!"

Arthur chocked on the air rushing back into his lungs, massaging his tender throat. He saw stars – stars that danced and twirled like they belonged in a circus act, making him feel dizzy and sick, and like he was going to fall off his chair and into the puddle of spilt wine beside his chair at any moment. Wouldn't Morgana just love that?

"I'm not as weak as you think," he rasped.

"Show me the arrow," Morgana snapped. "_Fetch it_!"

Leon was summoned back into the room and ordered to take Arthur to find the arrow. Even though the fomorroh had returned to dominance, at its mistress' request, Arthur managed to give Morgana another provoking grin before Leon dragged him completely from the room. He watched her seethe until his once-trusted knight closed the door and hauled him down the corridor.

It all blurred together after that, the fomorroh taking the lead and pushing Arthur, a little battered from Morgana's rage, back into his prison. At some point, Celyn had been startled awake when Leon took to pounding on his door and snapping orders through the wood as the young, soon-to-be-knighted boy threw on whatever clothes he could find. Celyn emerged looking flustered and somehow wide-awake (Arthur guessed it was the shock at his rude awakening, then fear that he was being summoned by Morgana), a familiar arrow with Camelot-red fletching in his trembling hands. They were not taken back to Morgana's chambers, as Arthur had expected, but the Throne Room.

Morgana sat upon his throne. In her hands was what looked like a mirror, glistening dangerously even in the darkness that filled the room. She turned it over in her hands as through it could tell her every secret she so desired to be unraveled. In Arthur's brief absence, she seemed to have calmed down slightly. She even smiled when they entered, quickly dismissing Leon to stand guard outside the door with–was that _Kay_? Since when had Kay agreed to stand guard all night? Usually, he exercised every excuse and complaint he had to get out of that particular shift, much preferring to spend his evenings down at the tavern with Gwaine and an assortment of other knights.

What had Morgana _done _to them?

"Did you know," Morgana said loudly, and smirked directly at Celyn. He went white, then very promptly turned green. "That the Throne Room is the very _center _of Camelot? A strategic piece of architecture, most likely, so that the entire city could be built around the exact point where the throne would be placed. That serves me quite well." She stopped moving the Mirror, placing it in her lap and putting two hands on top of it, as though she drew power from it. Arthur, with a growing sense of dread, realized that she probably did. "I have a vantage point here, you see. I can both focus my power, and reach every corner, no matter how big or small, of Camelot, with it. This is the Mirror of Deception, as some call it; you will be well acquainted with it soon enough. Shall I show you what it can do?" She didn't wait for their answer. "Celyn, would you say you are a _loyal _subject?"

Celyn, with a nervous glance in Arthur's direction, nodded.

"Well, so did Sir Leon and his fellow knights. And look at them now. Do you want to know what happened?"

Neither of them spoke.

"It was the Mirror," Morgana said, as though they had given her an enthusiastic reply. "Though it may not look all that powerful, I can _assure _you that it is. So powerful, in fact, that it could have destroyed Emrys with very little difficulty. Good job you already took care of that, hmm?"

Again, they said nothing.

"Now, for a demonstration. This shouldn't take long."

Morgana's eyes glowed a searing gold, fixated on Celyn. The Mirror quickly took up the same molten color. When Arthur glanced at Celyn, his eyes matched the witch's. Arthur started forward, but found yet again that an invisible force held him back. It was almost like running repeatedly into the battlements.

"There's very little use in trying to stop me," Morgana said, not so much as glancing away form Celyn. The gold faded from Morgana's eyes a moment later, the Mirror returning to how it once was. Celyn blinked dazedly up at her until the gold left his own eyes. "It was much less simple for the other knights, which is why it took so long to return them to you, Arthur. Perhaps I will explain it to you later. But for now, all you need to know is that any knight who remained loyal to you are now bound to the Mirror and hence, under my control. All ready to follow my every demand, my _every word_. And if you are not willing to tell me the truth about Emrys, then I'm sure Celyn here will be _glad _to enlighten me."

Arthur opened his mouth to protest, because he knew Celyn was involved somehow in Gwaine and Merlin's escape–and yes, they _had _escaped–but Morgana held up a finger with glowing eyes and said causally, "Not another word from you." The same paralyzing spell washed over him, this time with the added effect of keeping him silent. Morgana smirked at its effectiveness before turning her attention back to Celyn, "Now, Celyn, tell me: is Emrys dead?"

This was it. Celyn will tell Morgana and she would most likely kill them both – or at least ensure they suffered enough for their defiance. And when she had finished with them, she would surely go after Merlin and Gwaine, and kill them both with brutality she had, of course, convinced herself they deserved. She'd probably make Arthur watch and then afterwards, when Camelot fell. Eventually, she would kill him too, and it would be a _mercy_.

_No. _He had to do something. He needed–

"Yes, my lady," Celyn told her. Any fear, any uncertainty, had left him, and turned instead to loyalty and determination and honesty.

_Honesty. _But Celyn couldn't be telling the truth. Emrys–_Merlin_–couldn't be dead. They had had a plan, a rushed and ridiculous plan, but all their plans turned out that way. Just look at what had happened during their quest for the Cup of Life. It all went to hell and somehow, _somehow_, they made it out alive, like they always did. Arthur knew now that 'somehow' was Merlin. But this time was no different. It _couldn't _be different. Merlin and Gwaine were alive and well. Arthur refused to believe it because he would _know_. He saw the dragon in the woods; the dragon that had given him hope, had reassured him that it wasn't time for Camelot to fall. Not while he lived, not while Emrys lived. _He would know_.

"And how," Morgana continued. "Was Emrys killed?"

"An arrow to the heart," Celyn replied. "I shot him myself – with this very arrow."

Morgana studied him for a long time – long enough for Arthur to wonder whether she was thinking the same; that she would know somehow if Emrys was gone – her fingers tracing the crystals on the Mirror all the while. Eventually, she extended her hand to him and ordered, "Bring it forward."

Celyn, with a slight bow and a new confidence in his step (if he was acting, how did he manage to look so certain when moments ago he looked ready to faint, Arthur asked himself), placed the arrow in Morgana's outstretched hand. She studied it intently.

"This is Emrys' blood?"

"Yes, my lady."

"Let's see, shall we?"

With the Mirror in one hand, Morgana raised the arrow in the other, as someone would when about to strike, a menacing gold swirling in her eyes. The dry, rust-like blood on the arrow turned a more vivid red, taking a flowing form once more and dripping onto the Mirror's reflective glass. Arthur couldn't see much from his position, but the splatters of blood seemed to group together, then branch out from the gradually-distorting origin, forming what looked like a spider with far too many legs.

The blood began to fade, and in its place formed an image that Arthur could only just see. Celyn placed the arrow – the same arrow as the one Morgana now held – against his bow with shaking hands, pulling it back and aiming it in Merlin's direction. Merlin had his hands on either side of his head, in a recognizable sign of surrender, and Arthur thought he saw Gwaine nearby, dead. The arrow was released quickly, Celyn throwing his bow down as soon as he saw it hit the target. Merlin tumbled backwards, landing near to Gwaine's body, and Celyn rushed towards them both. One look confirmed what they all knew to be true: Merlin was dead.

The Throne Room was silent after the image faded. Morgana's hands curled and uncurled around the handle of the Mirror in what seemed to be rage, mixed with an itching to conjure another spell that Arthur knew, this time, would be less informative and more hazardous to him specifically. Celyn stood with a somewhat blank expression, as if oblivious to Morgana's anger. Arthur waited, straight-backed and ready, for her attack.

Morgana screamed as she snapped the arrow in half and threw it, rising from the throne at the same time, her eyes glowing a defined, deadly gold. The few torches that had been lit in the room flickered then roared upwards, creating an arch of fire that Arthur and Celyn barely escaped. The shutters flew open then closed over and over again, creating a frantic breeze that made the fire dance. The room seemed to shake with her power, and both Celyn and Arthur cowered before her.

"Merlinis Emrys," she growled. "_Merlin is Emrys_!"

The orchestra of slamming shutters and ferocious fire abated, a calmness settling over the room. Morgana gripped the back of the throne as if it were the only thing keeping her upright, her back to them both.

"I should have known," she muttered the same way Arthur heard madmen do, with calculating paranoia. "How many times has he thwarted my plans? He was _always _by your side, like some kind of obedient _puppy_. But it seems he is not only your servant, but a servant of Fate. Emrys… Emrys and the–" she stopped abruptly. She turned to face them, a look of disgusted revelation distorting her once-beautiful features. Her eyes found Arthur's, narrowing. "_You_."

Arthur, bursting free of his paralyzing bounds, took a step backwards and pulled his sword from his sheath, raising it to defend himself. The rage in Morgana's eyes mirrored his. He was _scared_. Morgana wasn't easily fooled, not when they were younger and not now, and she _believed _Celyn. Arthur was starting to believe him too. His fear morphed into anger. He had to play along; and if it was not a play at all, he had to avenge his friend.

"Did you know?" Morgana asked almost giddily. "Did you know that all this time, your manservan_t_, your dear, loyal manservant, was a _sorcerer_? That he _betrayed _you! And Uther…" she laughed manically. "_Uther _offered him a position in the royal household for saving your life. All this time, there has been _magic _at the heart of Camelot. And you _never knew_, did you, Arthur, at least not until I ordered you to find him? _You had no idea_. Does his betrayal hurt? He was your _friend_, after all. And you turned against him, just as your turned against me. Merlin is dead because of you."

"Merlin is dead because of _you_!" Arthur yelled.

"Ah, so you have forgiven him for his betrayal, his _magic_," Morgana snarled. "Yet you will not forgive me."

"Is that such a surprise?"

Morgana laughed. At first, it was nothing more than a small chuckle through pressed lips. But it grew and grew until she had to grip the throne again to stay on her feet in her amusement. "Who would have thought it? A small, simple-minded fool, the great, almighty Emrys? _My destiny and my doom_? And _you_, the Once and Future King? We shall see about that."

Arthur would have _loved _to listen to her gloat about her supposed victory over Emrys and apparently, destiny also – because when the day came that Merlin returned to Camelot, she would be sorry she ever said such a thing; Arthur would make sure of it – but he was still angry, and he wasn't sure how long he could listen to her laugh at Merlin. With a roar, he charged.

He got close, but Morgana nodded at Celyn, who stepped forward to block him before he could land a hit on her. Only then, for a brief, passing moment, did Celyn look uncertain about his actions as he grabbed Arthur's arms to keep him back, but it was gone as soon as he turned back to Morgana.

"I thought you would have learnt by now, Arthur," Morgana said, moving so she stood right in front of him, her face a nose-length away from his. "I am a _High Priestess _of the Old Religion, and soon, very soon, I will be the Queen of Camelot. I am _indestructible_. Try to prove me wrong; I _dare _you."

She waited with a raised eyebrow as Arthur struggled. But Celyn was strong, and Morgana had put another spell on him, no doubt. She remained just out of his reach, managing to pry the sword out of his hands with little difficulty and throwing it so that it landed where one half of the broken arrow lay.

"Take him to the dungeons," Morgana ordered Celyn, who nodded obediently. Her eyes flashed at Arthur and he felt the fomorroh stir once more, somewhat sleepy after being inactive. "I trust you will behave yourself, Arthur."

_You're not giving me much choice, are you? _Arthur would have said, if the fomorroh hadn't answered for him with a complaint, "Yes, your highness."

Her cackles were all he heard on the way out. They seemed to follow him all the way down to the dungeons.

* * *

Celyn's grip on him tightened when he saw Leon and Kay on guard outside the Throne Room, looking oblivious to the violent show of magic Morgana had displayed to them, but slackened the closer they got to the dungeons, until he was hardly restraining Arthur at all. Arthur walked into the cell on his own accord, having no choice but to follow Morgana's orders.

The guards that had been on duty in the dungeons seemed to have also fallen prey to Morgana's spell. They didn't mention Celyn's sudden gentleness, nor the flash of horror that crossed his face when he realized, at the same time as Arthur, that the two men were under Morgana's command, but watched like hawks as Celyn locked and secured the cell.

Only then did the fomorroh (which had become suddenly very lazy and unwilling to do much more than answer to Morgana's demands, if a little reluctantly, seemingly satisfied that it had done all that its was supposed to) release its control on him once more. Celyn lingered when the guards returned to their post at the table, more alert than they may have been when free of enchantment, but still more focused on their dice game than the prisoners.

"Is it true?" Arthur asked quietly, so the guards didn't overhear. "Is he–is he dead?"

Celyn's expression went from impassive to sickened, and then sorry. The paleness returned and his knees looked a little weak. _It was an act_, Arthur realized, shocked. Relief overtook him when Celyn shook his head slightly in reply.

"I can't begin to thank you, Celyn," Arthur breathed. He closed his eyes for a moment and pressed his forehead against the bars. When he looked up again, with a relieved smile, Celyn was looking at him as if to say, _I broke the law, I consorted with sorcerers, and you're thanking me? _

Arthur let out a small laugh, tainted again by his pure, unadulterated relief. He shook his head and was about to speak when one of the guards called, "Hey, what are you two whispering about? Get back to your post, boy!"

"Thank you, Celyn," Arthur said again.

Celyn nodded once, giving him a trusting smile before taking a deep breath, his resolve returning, and turned to leave the dungeons.

For a while, Arthur was too relieved to care about Morgana's latest plan to take over Camelot.

But the relief quickly wore off.

_Soon, very soon, I will be Queen of Camelot. _

And what part would Arthur have to play in that?

* * *

"_Where _have you been?" Morgana demanded, almost as soon as Agravaine stumbled into her chambers and helped himself to the new jug of wine a terrified servant had bought up along with her breakfast.

"I was sidetracked, my lady," he said in reply, drowning the glass of wine before continuing, "I got… lost. I trust I haven't been missed as regent?"

"Regent?" Morgana raised her eyebrows slightly. Agravaine cowered. "Arthur has already returned and as you can see, I am also here to assume your position."

"How did you get here so quickly? And the knights–they're under your control," Agravaine stammered.

"The Mirror. How else? I like to be ahead of schedule."

"It was successful, then?"

"Yes, it was successful indeed. The Mirror's magic is mine," Morgana gloated. "And I have bound it to Ysbaddaden's Mount and the Dochraid's power."

"Then even Emrys should cower at your feet."

"Emrys is dead," Morgana snapped.

"_Dead_?" Agravaine echoed.

"Yes. And it turns out he was right under our–or rather, _your _nose all this time. It was Merlin."

"_Merlin_?"

"He knew," Morgana said quietly, with a small, puzzled frown. "From the beginning, he _knew _about my magic. All this time. And he… he was in the visions."

"Visions, my lady?"

"When I completed the binding spell, I saw… Albion had fallen," Morgana murmured. "Then the image changed and I was Queen. Camelot was as it is now. But Merlin–_Emrys_–he was there, with that _drunkard_ and serving girl. Guinevere–she had some part to play in it, and _Sir _Gwaine, but it was Emrys who stood against me."

"But surely, he is dead. It could not have been a prophecy."

"No, no. I'm quite sure it was nothing more than an hallucination," Morgana agreed, but didn't look fully convinced. "Find Guinevere. Bring her to me. Arthur defied the fomorroh; I presume he found a way to sneak her out of Camelot, but she cannot have gotten far."

"I have been informed they departed in the late hours of the night."

"Good. They won't be hard to find. They've gone to Ealdor."

Agravaine bowed and turned towards the door. But before he reached it, Morgana called him back, "And if you hear so much as a whisperer that Emrys and that stupid knight of his are alive, then you will report to me. I will make _sure _he is no longer a threat."

Agravaine bowed slightly. "Yes, my lady."

"And for goodness sake _bathe_," Morgana hissed. "You have a coronation to attend."


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**A Master of Two Servants: **Morgana uses the fomorroh to manipulate Arthur into hunting down and killing Emrys. Little do they know the man they are both searching for is much closer than they think … AU of 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Warnings: **gore and violence. Spoilers up to and for 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Disclaimer: **Merlin is not mine. It belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

A Master of Two Servants

Chapter Nineteen

They made it as far as the gate before they were intercepted. Lurking on either side of the mostly-unknown city exit (and entrance, if needs be) were two men, one almost a head taller than the arching gate and the other not a great deal smaller. As soon as Gaius managed to open the scraping, rusting grate, the pair moved in front of their escape root–the smaller one exercising a troublesome grin, the other a stoic look of professionalism.

Gwen raised the sword Arthur had given her – that had been the moment she realized he wanted them out of Camelot; and she was glad that she hadn't refused the weapon in an attempt to show him just how much she didn't want to leave him, because she knew there had to be a good reason behind it all – and took a shaking step ahead of Gaius. She could see very little, but there was just enough light to level the sword at the smaller man's chest.

His smile grew in the darkness, casting a playfully menacing shadow over his features. "Lady Guinevere, I take it?"

"How–?" before she could ask, Gaius hand was on her shoulder, guiding the sword downwards.

"This is Sir Galehaut of Oldridge," Gaius explained, at her questioning look. "He is here to help us."

"Most people call me Gale," the man said, smile going from devious to charming in the blink of an eye. "And this here is my mate Dafydd. Don't be fooled by his size. You could take him, I'm sure."

Gwen shot another glance in the bigger man's direction. Dafydd inclined his head slightly in greeting, but didn't speak. He reminded her a great deal of Percival.

"I'm not," Gwen murmured.

Gale laughed. "What do you think, Gaius?"

"I think we have very little time for your antics, Sir Galehaut," Gaius replied, looking rather irritated by the youngest of the infamous Oldridge brothers.

"Straight to the point, as always, Gaius." Gale nodded, looking slightly more serious when he continued, "But I do believe you're right. Antics, as you call them, aside, we are here for a purpose. Merlin and Gwaine are traveling to Gedref–and it is our job to ensure you two are there to meet them whenever they do arrive."

"_Gedref_?" Gwen echoed disbelievingly. "Why are they… oh."

Gale looked as though he were caught somewhere between amused and perplexed, glancing at Dafydd and Gaius, then back to Gwen. "Is that a good 'oh' or a bad 'oh'?"

"There is no outbreak, is there?"

"_Oh_," Gale muttered.

"Arthur wants us out of Camelot because he's found Emrys," Gwen continued, turning to look at Gaius, who had the decency to look both guilty and worried.

"Not _exactly_, no," said Gale, before the physician could get a word in. "Well, _yes_, he has found Emrys, but actually, it's _Emrys _that wants you out of Camelot because, well–um–Gaius?"

Gaius was again intercepted, this time by Gwen's, "Because Emrys is Merlin."

Gale appeared rather happy at her deduction. Gaius looked shocked. Dafydd was impassive as he'd been since their arrival. It was Gale who broke their stunned silence with a cheerful exclamation of, "So you _do_ know! That un-complicates things. Should we be off, then?"

"I suspected," Gwen said, ignoring Gale and looking straight at Gaius. She looked almost as surprised as they had. Though she had thought it strange Merlin wasn't with Arthur when he gathered his men in the courtyard, it was nothing more than a mere, fleeting suspicions she convinced herself was ridiculous. But she hadn't been able to hear what Arthur was saying to the knights over their yells of confusion and outrage, which meant Emrys' identidy had remained hidden... until now. "But–_Merlin_? Did you know?"

"Do you think it possible that I didn't?" Gaius replied.

"All this time, he's–he has _magic_. He's a sorcerer!"

Gale shot a questioning glance in Dafydd's direction. The larger man shrugged. "I don't think this is the best place to be having this discussion. Maybe–"

"Why would Merlin go to Gedref?" Gwen demanded. "And why are we going with him? How can we trust him?"

"I'm afraid you have very little choice, but to trust him," Gaius said calmly. "He is the only hope Camelot has."

"But–"

"All you need to know is Arthur is possessed, Morgana is invading Camelot again and we need to get out of here _now _before those rather constipated looking guards notice us hanging about like suspicious woodland animals–because I have to say, we do look a tad bit suspicious," Gale blurted in a rush. "Now, if you would follow me, my lady."

Gwen looked up at the battlements. A few of the guards were walking back and forth with lanterns, glancing every so often to where they were mostly concealed, although it would only be a matter of time before they were spotted or overheard.

"We will explain _everything_," Gale promised. This time, his smile didn't give the impression of a carefree, troublemaking noble with a problematic yearning for danger. He looked kinder, more trust-worthy. Somehow, younger–much more like his real age. "But we really do have to leave now."

Gwen glanced one last time over her shoulder at Camelot. It looked calm, peaceful, like it usually did on an ordinary evening, and she knew she would miss it, just as she knew she had to leave. If there was one thing she could believe now, it was that she had to trust her instincts. And her instincts were telling her to _go_, even if it meant leaving her home behind.

"What about Arthur?" she asked.

"He'll be included in the explanation," Gale supplied. "But for now, it's more of a matter of… blind trust, I suppose. But you _can _trust us."

Gaius was giving her a meaningful look, one that told her Gale was speaking the truth. Gwen chewed her lip and gave a brief nod, sheathing her sword.

With a spring in his step, Gale twirled in the direction of the woods and set off in a brisk walk, Dafydd, Gaius and Gwen not far behind.

Camelot stood alone behind them.

* * *

The storm was, if Gale's muttered complaints were anything to go by, detrimental to their plans. It wasn't long before Dafydd announced that they needed to take shelter. Any magic (it was taking Gwen quite a while to get her head around _that_) Dafydd could have done–because apparently, that was the plan–would be hindered by the supposedly magical storm.

Shelter was found in a small clearing, where Dafydd and Gale had a long conversation about what they were going to do while Gwen and Gaius listened on. Undoubtedly, their discussion was lengthened considerably by Gale's continuous joking, despite his obvious frustration at their plans being disrupted. But eventually, they came to some kind of decision, which involved Gale trudging about the forest for firewood and something to eat, Dafydd casting some kind of spell, and Gwen and Gaius sitting uselessly on a fallen tree while all of this went on.

"I thought he couldn't use his… _magic_?" Gwen whispered hesitantly, watching as Dafydd paced somewhat restlessly around the clearing, muttering what sounded like a spell. "Because of the storm?"

"Dafydd is a powerful sorcerer. The storm will not have dampened his powers completely, but it has disabled the particular kind of magic he specializes in," Gaius explained.

"Oh. Will it affect Merlin's magic?"

"I hope not."

"Good."

They were silent after that.

Gale returned shortly, looking a bit like the soaked woodland creature he had thrown over his shoulder. He put the firewood down in the center of the clearing and sat opposite them while Dafydd tried to light it. The fire caught at the same time as the shield went up, enclosing them in an invisible half-bubble that kept out the rain that had been hammering down on them. Gale grinned widely and moved closer to the fire, helping Dafydd to prepare the meal.

Sometime later, when the storm had abated, they sat around the warming fire eating a stew-like concoction with improvised utensils in relative silence. When Gale had wolfed down his dinner, he leaded back against the log he'd been using as a chair and announced, breaking the silence, "We won't be able to leave until morning, now. The shield will keep us hidden and sheltered for the night, fortunately. But by tomorrow, we'll be in Gedref."

"Why Gedref?" Gwen asked.

"It's a long story, but I do believe I promised you an explanation," Gale replied with a thoughtful smile. "Well, I suppose it starts long before I was born. My mother, Lady Enid, started a sort of school–well, it was more of a place for sorcerers in need of help–in one of our manors. She taught the Druids about living in cities and towns, educated ordinary people and sorcerers alike in magic and how to use it for good, that kind of thing. It was kept secret from Uther because a number of the sorcerers there had managed to get themselves into his or Nimueh's bad books and, well, if they had found out then it wouldn't be there today, certainly not after the Great Purge. But Uther did catch an inkling of it and though he never found out the destination or specification of the safe house, he _did _discover my mother's affiliation with it. She lied to protect us and although I don't really know the ins and outs of it all–I was five, at the time–I do know Uther declared her guilty and had her executed for witchcraft.

My father decided he would carry on her life's work, providing sanctuary to anyone in need. A great many sorcerers and Druids took shelter there during the Purge and following years of prosecution–some still live there, others have traveled since, started their own families and settlements, some even other safe houses across the Five Kingdoms and a great distance beyond. But they all serve the same purpose to this very day, which is to give shelter to _anyone _in need.

That's where Merlin comes in. A few years ago, the Lady Morgana went missing. You remember?" Gwen nodded. Gale continued, "Uther rounded up anyone he suspected of sorcery and deluded himself into believing, even after finding his ward, they were not just suspects, but culprits. Obviously, Merlin couldn't let them all be killed so Gaius here told him about our little organization and alas, here we are. Dafydd and Merlin have been sneaking sorcerers out of Camelot for years since; they've become experts. Merlin has done us a great many favors. We are all in great debt to him and, of course, he doesn't want repayment, but I think now, in Albion's time of need, he'll have no choice but to turn to us.

Morgana has been planning something. We didn't know what, exactly, but we managed to deduce that the mercenaries that ambushed the King's patrol a few weeks past were sent by her. She has enchanted Arthur somehow. Aithusa tells me Merlin suspects a fomorroh."

Gwen frowned. "A what?"

Gale nodded at the physician. "Gauis?"

"A serpent like creature used in the days of the Old Religion to enslave the minds of men. The High Priestesses would cut off one of its heads and plant it in their victim. Once the serpent was planted, the victim would have no choice but to follow the High Priestess' every demand. They would not stop until they'd accomplished it," Gaius described.

"In this case, Arthur was ordered to kill Emrys, as I'm sure you know," Gale added. "Morgana knows that he's a threat to her, that as long as he's alive Camelot will be out of her reach, but she has no clue of his actual identity. She believes whoever he is, as long as he's out of the way, Camelot is free for her to take. Soon enough, she'll think she's accomplished that. And with Arthur under her command, it is most likely she'll take the throne before we're able to do anything, even with Emrys on our side. She has the knights under her control–essentially, she has an army and a King at her disposal. We can't yet counter that, but we will most certainly find a way."

"The knights?" Gwen's eyes widened. "How?"

Gale looked a little aggrieved to admit, "We're not yet sure _how_ just yet. But there are very few possibilities. Either she's grown in power–which we know she has, but not nearly enough for her to have the ability to command so many men–or sought some kind of help, perhaps from the Dochraid or Sidhe. And there's one other option, our least favorite one. There's an artifact of sorts–a device with more power than Ysbaddaden's Mount, the Dochraid and Sidhe combined–and if she's found some way to harness that power and theirs, we're in a spot of bother."

"The Mirror of Deception," Gaius deduced. Gale nodded. "If she has possession of the Mirror, then we are in much more than a spot of bother."

"More like a Camelot-sized _hole _of bother, if what I've been told is correct–and even we have limited sources." Gale turned his attention to Gaius. "Father was hoping you would be able to tell us more about the Mirror. We know some, but not nearly enough, and he's heard you have a rather broad knowledge on the subject."

The physician tensed. Gale seemed to realize he's said something wrong, but did nothing to retract it, even after Dafydd gave a long-suffering sigh and rose to renew the shield.

"What does he mean?" Gwen asked Gaius.

"That is a story for another time," was the only reply she got from him.

Gale studied Gaius for a moment, with the same expression of befuddled blankness he had worn earlier, although this time it lacked any amusement.

"I'm tired," Gale finally broke the silence with a yawn and exaggerated stretch for emphasis. "Let's get some sleep."

* * *

Sleep didn't come easy for Gwen, but when she finally got her many questions and increasing worry for her friends under control, she managed it. She must have slept for much longer than she expected to with such a restless mind because everyone was up and almost ready by the time she awoke, the sun already high and bright in the sky.

Gale greeted her with a cheery "good morning, my lady," told her that he was going to the river and if she wanted to come, she was more than welcome.

While Gale gathered water from the stream, she collected firewood. They met somewhere in the middle after completing their respective tasks, Gale's joking nature chasing away any awkwardness that might have existed between them.

He was in the middle of discussing Gedref when he tensed, continuing to talk, but quickly diverting the subject so that he made no further mention of their destination or what they would find there. Quietly, when he'd pulled the conversation to a close, he asked, "Are you armed?"

"No," Gwen whispered back.

"Dafydd will be here any moment," Gale hissed, drawing his sword from his scabbard, gaze locked firmly on the trees behind her. "But I need you to take this and run."

There must have been someone behind her. An enemy sent for them. She pushed his hand away when he tried to offer her the sword. "You'll need it more."

"I've got a dagger," he said, as though it were the greatest thing in the world, grinning dangerously. "And my fists."

"You can't–"

The knights swooped from the trees without warning. Gwen got a brief glimpse of their flying cloaks–_Camelot red_–before Gale was shoving her behind him. He drew his dagger and turned to look briefly at her, shouting, "_Go_!" before charging at the men. Metal met with a clang and a yell, and the men (nearly all were familiar) swarmed around them both. Raising her sword, she was prepared to fight when two strong hands caught her shoulders and turned her around, pushing her in the direction of the camp.

"Run," Dafydd ordered. "We'll be fine."

Gwen, with one last glance over her shoulder at where Gale was fighting, took off into the trees, firewood forgotten in favor of the sword. She had almost reached the stream when a figure intercepted her, stepping out from the trees and blocking her path with a menacing grin.

"Guinevere," Agravaine drawled. "I was rather hoping I would see you here. Is Gauis with you?"

They were after them both. Well, they'd just have to settle for her. "No."

"Forgive me if I _don't_ take your word for it. I'll just–"

"_No_," she said again. Agravaine raised his eyebrows in mocking surprise, hand lingering over his scabbard. "What do you want from us?"

"Well, it is not what _I _want from you, but rather, what _Morgana _wants."

Gwen tried to mask her surprise. "And what is that?"

Agravaine's grin grew. "She is quite keen for you to attend her coronation."

"Tell her I'd love to," Gwen replied, backing away. "But I have other plans."

With that, she ran, more quickly than she ever had before. The trees blurred around her and she used the sounds of battle as a guide, running away from the conflict and Agravaine, until she thought she was out of the way. She leaned against a tree to catch her breath, listening to the clashing of swords, and turned again to navigate her way back to the camp when–

"Percival?" Gwen gasped, clutching her sword tighter even if her mind didn't register him as a threat.

The knight didn't reply. He looked different, somehow. There was a strange look in his eyes, one that didn't match the gentle nature Gwen knew him to have. Ready to run, she stepped away from the tree. Percival's eyes trailed to somewhere past her head and he nodded slightly, just as she prepared to turn and strike blindly.

Hands snaked around her. A hand held a cloth to her mouth. She was dimly aware of Gale's sword slipping from her hands and Elyan's blank voice saying, "Fetch Agravaine. Tell him we've found what we were looking for."

Then everything dulled and disappeared, and she fell backwards into waiting arms.

* * *

**A/N: **I _did _have this chapter written, in which it was not one chapter, but two, and everything happened differently. But then I changed it. That happens a lot.

Feedback is much appreciated :)


	20. Chapter Twenty

**A Master of Two Servants: **Morgana uses the fomorroh to manipulate Arthur into hunting down and killing Emrys. Little do they know the man they are both searching for is much closer than they think … AU of 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Warnings: **gore and violence. Spoilers up to and for 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Disclaimer: **Merlin is not mine. It belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

A Master of Two Servants

Chapter Twenty

For the first days they spent there, both rested.

Gwaine remembered very little of their arrival – and he was sure, if he asked Merlin later, when the servant awoke, he would know even less – but he briefly recalled two familiar-looking man coming to greet them, and a number of strangely-robed people both cowering and gawking at their appearance. They had called him 'Strength' – which was really rather strange, for at the time it had taken two burly men dressed in leather (quite a different attire to what some of the others wore) to keep him on his feet. They'd dragged him to a nearby room, Merlin not far behind, and sent for a physician, who had told Gwaine to rest, a task the knight had found all too easy.

He also recalled riding a dragon, although that too was hazy. But he was quite sure his first words to it were not the most respectful, despite the majesty of the beast. All he had said to it was, "Took you long enough," and then promptly clambered onto its back with Merlin and told it to, "Giddy up." He had been delirious at the time, he would argue later.

For a while, he drifted in and out of sleep. A pretty blonde maid was sent up with food and water, but he had very little perception of time, and never knew what meal she was bringing him. She blushed at his attempts to flirt, while half conscious and slurring, and laughed whenever he asked for mead, saying that they didn't have anything of the sort here. He'd been appropriately appalled and mumbled rudely about Merlin's choice of destination before she had helped him back into bed. He'd fallen asleep before he could even make a remark about her joining him there.

Sometimes, the lingering belief that they was being chased had forced him from his dreams, and he would awake to the darkness of his temporary chambers, reacquainted with the feeling of not knowing where he'd been sleeping and finding that it was not quite so exhilarating after having settled into Camelot. He swore he could smell the familiar saltiness of the sea from his bed – another experience he had not had for a while and found, this time, he _did _miss – but the ghostly crashing of waves had lulled him back asleep, and in his brief periods of waking during the day he'd never thought to ask any of his visitors about their whereabouts. He had inquired numerous times about Merlin, however, and been told 'Emrys' was in good hands. Though not completely reassured, it would be three long days before he was in much of a state to actually go searching for his friend.

Merlin was resting when he arrived and although he'd wanted to speak with his friend, he _had _been reassured that the servant was in good hands. The same maid who had been looking after him – whose name he learned was Brangaine – had apparently taken quite a liking to Merlin (as had the rest of the safe house, apparently) and, along with a number of other druids, was taking good care of him.

Gwaine lingered for longer than he should have, knowing his friend really did need some rest, but the druids were interesting to observe. They weren't like the other he'd met, but yet they were equally as peaceful and caring. As he watched the maids go about their work, young children sometimes in tow, observing their elders' work, he found himself wondering how anyone could ever believe them to be evil.

The man that had greeted him upon their hasty arrival, only vaguely familiar at the time, found him there, half-asleep in one of the tall-backed, cushioned chairs. Well rested, and in the light of a surprisingly sunny day (considering winter was fast approaching and, only three nights ago, he had witness firsthand the most brutal storm he'd experienced during his time during Camelot), he realized that he did know the man.

"Lord Oldridge," Gwaine said, standing as soon as he got a proper look at him and the younger man that stood behind him. "Sir Gareth. What are you doing here?"

Usually, he wasn't one for titles, despite his own, but Lord Gilbert and his eldest son called for the upmost respect. They were the nicest and most truly noble of all Arthur's lords and if for some reason they were involved with this druidic, magical safe house, then they had just gone up in his estimations.

"We would ask you the same question," Gareth said, grinning deviously as he gripped his fellow knight's arm.

Gwaine laughed, clasping arms also with Gilbert. "It's good to see you both – despite the rather _unexpected _circumstances."

"Unexpected circumstances indeed, Sir Gwaine," Gilbert agreed. "How is your friend?"

"I do believe he is doing well." Shooting a grin at Brangaine, who was folding blankets in the corner, he added, "He is in very good hands, after all."

The maid blushed again. Gareth shook his head and said laughingly, "You never change."

"Brilliant, isn't it?"

"Well, if you two are quite done," Gilbert said good-humoredly, but giving Brangaine an apologetic smile. "We are not simply here on a social visit, I'm afraid, though you will have to tell me how you and your knights have been. But before that, we have much to discuss. Come."

Gwaine, after saying his farewells to the maids, followed after Gilbert and Gareth. They led him down a long hallway, one Gwaine had missed in his rush to get to Merlin, and into a large room that would have most likely once been used to hold visitors for dining. It was a large and homey room, most probably no longer used for its original purpose, but well looked after nonetheless. Light streamed through the many windows and Gwaine found himself drawn to them even when Gilbert and Gareth took a seat at the table. Outside, he wasn't surprised to catch a glimpse of the sea, white waves crashing against rocky shores.

"Gedref," Gwaine mused, with a smile. "Tell me there aren't any labyrinths involved in this discussion of ours."

"No," Gilbert replied. "But the Labyrinth does make this all the better a hiding place. That, and this part of the coast is undecided territory. The rules of neither Camelot nor Nemeth apply here."

Gareth grinned and added, "And so we have made our own."

Gwaine chuckled and took a seat opposite the pair. "Yes, I can see that. I take it no one knows of this place."

"Very few." Gilbert nodded. "Only those who will benefit from our services."

"But–why? I mean, I think this is great, but… the Old Religion, and anyone directly affiliated with it, is instantly punishable – by death, nonetheless! And as far as I know, neither of you practice magic, so you have no direct need for a safe house yourselves."

"No, we do not, but that is not why we do it," Gilbert explained. "My wife, as you may well know, was executed for sorcery and although most believe the charges were false, that was not the case. This, in a way, is her legacy. I have continued her life's work, as she would have wanted me to. It has been hard, I assure you, but I sense Camelot's time of need will be upon us soon, and I am glad to be able to extend my services to you and to Emrys."

"Ah. So that's why we're here." Gwaine found himself grinning. "You knew that Merlin is Emrys, didn't you? There was always something, when we visited Oldridge, but obviously I didn't really think–well, I didn't think much of this was possible until the last week."

"The world changes faster than the tides," Gareth said, with a sigh, his face darkening slightly when he spoke next, "Especially when it comes to Morgana."

"Don't believe the rumors, then?"

Gareth shrugged. "Rumors are rumors, and not to be believed. And I have learnt a great deal on my many visits here; including exactly how hard it is to kill a High Priestess of the Old Religion."

"Was she even close to dying?"

"Doubt it," Gareth replied. "Combined with that freak storm of hers, we have all the proof we need: she's up to something."

"Undoubtedly," Gwaine agreed. "And Merlin–_Emrys_–bought us here to counter that something."

Gilbert leaned back in his chair, regarding the knight thoughtfully. "Yes, although I'm afraid you will not find all that you need here. Sorcerers who are willing to fight for your cause, yes, and shelter when it is desired. But we have reason to believe that Morgana's invasion is less than a day away, and we are going to have to be more _outstretching_, if we are to defeat her."

Gwaine grinned. "Sounds good to me. I do like a good adventure."

"I fear there is very little _good _about it, Sir Gwaine."

"What do you mean?"

Gareth glanced cautiously at his father before speaking, "Morgana has had help."

"She is in possession of the Mirror of Deception."

Gwaine narrowed his eyes. "The Mirror of what what?"

"_Deception_. It had many names – too many to list, believe me," Gareth continued. "It is a powerful artifact of the Old Religion. One of the most powerful, if I'm not mistaken. With it, she will prove a match for any sorcerer, even Emrys."

"So her magic has been enhanced–by an _inanimate _object?" Gwaine smirked. "It's a _Mirror_, what could it possible–?"

"Oh, I wouldn't underestimate its power," Gilbert cut in. "I believe she has already entranced your knights."

The blood drained from Gwaine's face. "_What_?"

"The Mirror has allowed her to fabricate apparitions of the knights Arthur sent out on patrol," Gareth explained grimly. "They will appear no different, but they will be undefeatable in a fight, if it were to come to that; immortal and unstoppable, much like the army she and Morgause conjured to conquer Camelot with Cenred, but even deadlier. And they will answer her every command. She must intend to create the illusion that she has taken the throne peacefully; that Arthur has abdicated, and the knights have sworn their loyalty to her."

Gwaine shook his head. "The people won't be fooled."

"Perhaps, but they will have no choice in the matter," said Gilbert. "Morgana will appear to be the rightful Queen."

"How did she even know the knights were going to be there?" Gwaine demanded, massaging his forehead. "It was not meant to be a high-profile patrol. Was it Agravaine?"

This time, it was Gilbert and Gareth's turn to look stricken.

"What?" Gwaine sat up straighter. "What is it?"

Gareth swallowed and looked to one of the windows. "It was Elaine."

"_Elaine_?" Gwaine echoed.

"We have kept her as sheltered as possible from all of this, although it appears it was of little use now," Gilbert explained sadly. "I overheard her telling the knights that Emrys resided within Ysbaddaden's Mount, not far from Oldridge. Of course, I couldn't tell them who Emrys really was, but I told them not to go. They went anyway, as it was the only lead they'd had; I wasn't concerned, at first, since the tunnels have remained empty for years and I presumed they wouldn't have found anyone there, but I was wrong. They didn't return."

"But we received word from them. They were fine."

"It would have been fabricated by the witch, no doubt."

"I should have known." Gwaine shook his head grimly. "So Elaine is in league with Morgana?"

"Morgana contacted her for information and, in exchange for a price, she gave it."

"And how do you know all this?"

"We received word a few days past," Gareth answered. "She wrote to us, to tell us of what she had done and to apologize. It most probably broke the terms of her agreement with Morgana, but she claims to be leaving for the continent where, I dare say it, she may be better off for now."

"I'm sorry," Gwaine said, equally as grim.

Gilbert smiled, a small, wistful smile. "As are we. But the past cannot be changed, and so we must move on from it."

"What are you going to do about Elaine?"

"When this whole thing is over, we will look for her. But for now, I cannot involve her in this. As much as it pains me, the continent will be a safer place for her."

"I am sorry, truly."

"It is no one's fault, but mine," Gilbert sighed. "But alas, it _is _in the past. And it is all ask that she is happy and safe, and that we will meet again. I know a great deal of sorcerers that could get me to the continent in little over a moment or two, if need be. I shall be fine."

Gareth nodded slightly in agreement. "And as for the other traitor, Agravaine, I do believe he's been taken care of for now."

"Please tell me he's dead."

"No. But I can tell you Emrys has been playing Morgana at her own game."

Gwaine sat up straighter. "What do you mean?"

"Agravaine's been enchanted; sent out of Camelot on an unwilling errand for the King. Of course, we know Arthur couldn't have enchanted him; Merlin, on the other hand…"

"Enchanted how?"

"A manipulation spell, most likely. They're hard to preform, and…" Gareth looked suddenly uncomfortable.

"Go on," Gwaine urged.

"A variation of dark magic."

"_Merlin _has been preforming dark magic?" Gwaine shook his head, standing quickly. "I need to see him, talk this through. He wouldn't–"

"Sir Gwaine," Gilbert called him back. "To the many druids and magic-users here, you are their Strength. Discuss this, if you must, with Emrys, but in privacy."

"But–"

"Sit, Gwaine," Gilbert ordered. "I'm afraid I have only wine, but I am sure we can put it to good use. Tell me how you have been, and we can deal with any further matters later, when Emrys has awoken."

Gwaine glanced at Gilbert and Gareth, before reluctantly taking a seat. "Very well."

He couldn't refuse them. Not after all they'd done. And he needed to know more.

* * *

The next morning, before he'd even had breakfast, Gwaine found himself on the rocky beach, watching the ebb and flow of restless waves as they crested and crashed against the shore. It was oddly relaxing, despite the weight that suddenly seemed to be resting on his and Merlin's shoulders. The situation, he had soon discovered, was far direr than he'd thought.

Morgana was powerful. Too powerful. And they had to find some way to counter her while on the run, most likely. They couldn't stay at the safe house. Gilbert was right; not all the answers they needed were here.

The winter was fast approaching and the wind was harsh, the sea turbulent. Since his armour wasn't needed and he cloak would be too conspicuous when they did leave the safe house, Gareth had lent him some thicker and warmer clothes, including the furs he wore now, but it was still far too cold to be standing around outside. Though he couldn't bring himself to go inside just yet, not even knowing breakfast was most probably waiting for him.

Merlin found him there, walking slowly to join him. He looked rather worse for wear – his arm had been put back into a sling, and he looked pale and drawn, in spite of the rest he'd gotten. Despite wearing similarly weather-appropriate clothes to Gwaine (which, combined with Gwaine's growing knowledge of his friend's power, made him seem both mighty and nobler, as though he belonged here, where everyone looked up him as though he were their King), Merlin looked quite cold, and like he too had been wondering up and down the shore before breakfast to clear his head. Although he still wore that signature smile of his, which seemed to brighten his sickly pallor somewhat and put a little the light back into his burdened eyes, there was something about him that hadn't been there before; a kind of defeat Gwaine had never seen Merlin display. Yet, in the sorcerer's eyes, Gwaine saw the battle of faith, belief's turbulent war for dominance. Merlin hadn't given up quite yet.

To say Gwaine was surprised to see him would be an understatement. "Merlin! What are you doing up?"

"Looking for you," Merlin replied. "Gilbert said you were 'clearing your mind.'"

"Gilbert is right. Been sober for too long, you see," Gwaine joked somewhat reservedly. "How do you feel?"

Merlin lifted his uninjured shoulder in a slight shrug, seeming to consider his condition before replying, "Hmm. Better."

"Good."

"I hear you spoke with Gilbert and Gareth."

Gwaine tensed slightly. "Yes."

"Did you suspect them, of all people?"

"No."

"Gwaine," Merlin asked, smile faltering. "Are you all right?"

"I heard what you did to Agravaine," the knight replied, eyes fixed on the expanse of light sky and white waves before him. "And I don't like it."

Merlin's smile fell completely and he looked away, playing distractedly with the cloth wrapped around him palm, where he had cut it for the duplication spell. The druids had offered to heal it when they'd eased the severity of the mace wound, but he'd told them not to waste their energy. "I had to do it."

"Yes, that's what bothered me," Gwaine snapped. "Because Agravaine deserves everything he gets. And by no means do I think you should have granted him any sort of clemency, but nor do I believe you should be preforming dark magic. I've travelled enough to know that it is nothing short of selling one's soul."

"It wasn't–"

"It was close enough, so Gareth tells me."

"There was no other way," Merlin explained quickly. "He knew I was Emrys."

"Did Arthur make you do it?" Gwaine demanded. Merlin was silent. "He did, didn't he? I'm sure it was him who _told _Agravaine who you were! Why did you do it? That's the kind of magic _Morgana _practices, for goodness sake!"

"Arthur knows about my magic. He knows I've been lying to him from the moment we met," Merlin argued. "I wasn't going to disobey him, not when he could have me _killed_."

"If he wanted you dead, why would have _saved _you?" Gwaine cried. "Arthur is pompous and stupid, I know, but a blind man could see he cares for you, no matter how much you've lied to him!"

Merlin was silent.

Gwaine sighed, speaking more softly now. "Every person I've met here worships you. And I'm pretty sure you're the only hope we have, Merlin."

"You're right about dark magic, Gwaine." Merlin looked down at his boots, the only part of his attire that was his. They were an old and humble pair, and they reminded Gwaine that the man standing before him was the Merlin he knew, and not the Emrys he continued to learn about. At least for now, anyway. "But I have betrayed Arthur. I wouldn't blame him if he wanted me dead."

"I certainly would!" Gwaine piped up. "Bloody hell, Merlin. Don't you dare think like that!"

"Sorry."

"No. Don't apologize. Just promise me you won't do it again, all right?" Merlin nodded in agreement. Gwaine went on, "Well, unless you really have to, but when all your other options are no longer options. And for the love of Camelot, don't let princess tell you what to do. When have you ever done _that_, anyway? And if I'm not mistaken, you could take him in any fight without so much as batting an eyelid. So if anyone should be answering to anyone, Arthur sure as hell shouldn't be the one coming out superior."

Merlin smiled slightly. "I wouldn't–"

"I know. But for arguments sake."

Merlin chuckled. "For arguments sake."

"And as for this place," Gwaine continued, nodding over his shoulder. "No, I certainly didn't expect _Lord Gilbert _would be involved."

"No one would." Merlin grinned deviously at the knight, eyes aglow with a sudden passion and pride as they both turned their backs to the roaring ocean to face the safe house not far away. "That's the whole point."

The safe house did not look all that significant on the outside. It appeared unsuspecting enough, so to disguise it from any passer-byers – although Gareth had explained to him that it was protected by a number of shields that hid it from human eye – made out of plain, but study and expensive light brick. There was a small, wooden dock nearby, where a few damaged boats were tethered and swaying sickeningly with the waves. The shore was bare and rocky, surrounded by jagged cliffs, but from the highest rooms in the house, the Labyrinth of Gedref was visible, as well as long expanses of the hilly and green lands of Nemeth. There was very little sand to be seen, but whenever it appeared with the changing tides, the children would clamber down to the beach to play together. A stable meant that horses could be kept for trade and transport. There was enough land surrounding the house for pasture and an odd collection of other animals – a few sleepy sheep, one rowdy goat and a flock of wayward chicken – were kept for wool, milk and eggs. When not on the beach, the children were taught how to care for the animals. Some of the older children were also trained in the medicinal arts, as well as skilled in weaving and cooking.

It seemed to Gwaine that Merlin had every right to be proud. Plain as it appeared, the manor was a magnificent place. It had the saved lives of many and provided shelter to those in need. Yes, they should all be proud of this place.

"When did you discover it?" Gwaine asked.

"I'd heard of it as a child. My mother told me about it; I think she believed my father took refuge here."

"Did he?"

"No. But Morgana's mother, Vivienne, did after leaving Morgana in Camelot. Morgause too, actually; she lived here for quite sometime during her childhood, before leaving to become a High Priestess."

"But–" Gwaine spluttered in shock. "But they were…"

"Vivienne wasn't evil," Merlin explained. "She was misguided. Uther turned on her. Because of him, Morgause and Gorlois were taken from her, and yet she still trusted him with Morgana. Perhaps she thought Morgana could change him. Gilbert said she'd gone mad by then. She wasn't here for more than a month before she disappeared again."

"Where is she now?"

"No one knows. Most say she's dead, though."

"Oh," Gwaine said.

"Anyway, it was Gaius who actually told me where to find this place. There was an incident a number of years ago, before you came to Camelot. Morgana had first discovered her magic, so I sent her to the druids for answers," Merlin continued. "Uther believed they'd kidnapped her and rounded up all those he suspected of sorcery. I couldn't let them all die, so I helped them escape, and sent them here. Not all possessed magic, but they've learnt. Those who haven't still chose stay here anyway. Since then, I've been helping Gilbert and Gareth keep this place safe. There's a man here, a sorcerer called Dafydd, who's found a way to–_cheat _execution, I suppose you could say. We've been working together for quite a while now."

"And no one ever suspected a thing?"

Merlin shook his head.

"You, my friend, need to be locked up," Gwaine joked, patting the grinning sorcerer's uninjured shoulder. "This–_this _is amazing."

"It's all down to Gilbert and Gareth," Merlin replied. "And Lady Enid. This was her life's work."

"Well, it is quite the legacy."

Merlin grinned, a wide smile that seemed to momentarily chase away the shadows in his eyes. "It will certainly be a great help in the weeks to come."

"Will they fight, if it comes to it?" Gwaine questioned. "I haven't met many of the men, but Gilbert tells me they're capable."

"With magic, yes. Most of the druids will not fight. It is not in their nature to turn down those in need, but nor is it in their nature to fight." Merlin sighed. "If we can all avoid a fight…"

"Do you really think we can?" Gwaine questioned. "Last time was bad enough, and Morgana didn't have the Mirror back then – well, if she did, she certainly didn't use it. And she has what appears to be _another _immortal army."

The haunted look had returned to Merlin's eyes. He didn't look like a man safe in the secluded coast, but rather a warrior lost on the fields of a battlefield. The wind ruffled his hair, cold and brutal, and seemed to bring him back to his senses eventually, but he still looked troubled. "It won't be easy to defeat Morgana. It's going to take… force."

"The force of a war?"

"If there is no other way."

They stood in silence for a while after that, in the brutal wind, watching as the tide charged closer to the rocks, until Brangaine found them out there, formally warning that they'd catch a cold and announcing that breakfast had been ready an hour ago. Even as Brangaine talked and talked about the house (and their singular goat that never did as it was told), neither said very much. The sea roared behind them. Gwaine didn't think Merlin had listened to a word either he or the maid had said on their journey back to the house.

* * *

**A/N: **this chapter was originally chapter 18, but I've moved them around as I said, just so you know.

Feedback is much appreciated :)


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**A Master of Two Servants: **Morgana uses the fomorroh to manipulate Arthur into hunting down and killing Emrys. Little do they know the man they are both searching for is much closer than they think … AU of 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Warnings: **gore and violence. Spoilers up to and for 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Disclaimer: **Merlin is not mine. It belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

A Master of Two Servants

Chapter Twenty-One

At the safe house, it was quite common to eat meals together in what would have once been a banquet hall, back when it was used by the old Lords and Ladies for more traditional means, such a summer social visits. When Merlin found Gwaine in the mostly-empty hall, at one of the large, long tables with Brangaine, his plate was piled high will all manner of breakfast foods and he looked more relaxed than he had out on the beach.

He'd gone to talk briefly with Lord Gilbert, who informed him that there had still been no word from Dafydd or Gale. Merlin, during his and Gwaine's escape, had managed to communicate with both Aithusa and Kilgharrah, so that someone was sent to get Gaius, Gwen and his mother out of Camelot as soon as possible. Seeing as Dafydd specialized in teleportation, and Gale was bored of hanging around Oldridge with his other, older brother, Ector, while Gareth and Gilbert had all the fun, they were assigned the task. Gilbert had expected them back by now, but ever calm, he had reassured Merlin that there was no need to worry.

"Everything all right?" Gwaine asked around a mouthful of food.

"Yeah," Merlin replied absently, slipping into the place beside him.

Brangaine looked up from her plate, her previous amusement at whatever joke Gwaine had been telling before Merlin arrived replaced by a look of sympathy. "Is there still no word?"

"Not yet."

Gwaine, still shoveling food, glanced curiously between the pair. "Word from who? Are we expecting more visitors or something?"

"Arthur managed to get Gaius and Gwen to leave Camelot," Merlin explained. "And since Morgana's going to discover my identity at some point, we decided get my mother out of Ealdor in case Morgana decides to pay her a visit. They'll be coming here."

"Who's supposed to be escorting them?"

"Gale and Dafydd."

"_Gale_?" Gwaine demanded. Merlin rolled his eyes, which the knight seemed to take as a conformation and muttered, "No wonder they're late. What is he, _thirteen_? Of all the people they could send, why him? I mean…"

Brangaine gave him a look that said, _is now really the time? _Gwaine's monologue came to a halt, with him looking moderately guilty. He muttered a barely audible, "Sorry," and, smirking slightly, Brangaine returned to her breakfast.

As if summoned by Gwaine's humiliation, Gareth, with two over-filled plates, slid into the empty seat beside Brangaine, giving the maid a beaming smile before shoving one of the plates towards Merlin. "Thought you'd be hungry."

Merlin shot him a grateful smile. "Thanks."

"I heard Gale's name," Gareth said, digging in. "Are they back yet?"

"There's been no word from them."

"None at all?" Merlin shook his head. Gareth gave a reassuring smile. "Well, I'm sure they're fine. It's probably the storm; it interfered with everyone's magic, even Kilgharrah's."

Gwaine frowned at Merlin. "You did magic, though."

"All-powerful sorcerer," Gareth offered in form of explanation. Gwaine considered this, shrugged and went back to eating his breakfast. A cruel smile crossed Gareth's face all of a sudden. "Kilgharrah, in case you're wondering, is the dragon."

Gwaine refrained momentarily from wolfing down his food. "_Kilgharrah_?"

Gareth's smile grew in both size and wickedness. "Yep. Oh, and just a heads up: he's rather angry that you told him to 'giddy up.'"

Gwaine looked up from his breakfast, eyes wide. Brangaine bit on her lip in a vain attempt to stop her laughter, while Gareth went guiltlessly ahead. Merlin, with an entertained smirk, bemoaned, "I'm never going to hear the end of it, am I? And it was bad enough before."

"He's quite adamant that he is _not _a horse," Gareth agreed.

"_You'll _never hear the end of it?" Gwaine, recovered from his shock, exclaimed. "_I'll_ never hear the end of it, more like it. There's no way _he's_–" he gestured accusingly in Gareth's direction, "–keeping his mouth shut about this!"

"Of course not. It's just too good," Gareth managed around his laughter. "And I'm sure Kilgharrah won't be forgetting about anytime soon either. Dragons have _very _good memories."

"I wouldn't worry about Kilgharrah," Merlin said, laughing too. "He's only–"

_**Emrys? **_

Merlin flinched as the voice sounded through his mind. Across the table, Brangaine caught his gaze–she'd heard it too, but being more accustomed to the Druidic form of communication, it hadn't startled her so much.

_**Emrys, you are needed in the courtyard as a matter of urgency. Sir Galehaut and Dafydd have returned.**_

"Merlin? You all right?" Gareth asked, all joking forgotten.

"We're needed in the courtyard," Merlin hastily relayed the message, standing with Brangaine. Gwaine and Gareth followed hesitantly. "Gale's back."

"Oh, this is going to be _fun_," Gwaine muttered and pointed a warning finger in Gareth direction. "If you tell him about the dragon, I swear–"

Gareth, with an exasperated sigh, gave him a shove towards the doors before he could finish his sentence. Abandoning their breakfasts, they took the quickest route possible to the courtyard. It was at the center of the manor, concealed on all sides by the building; the only outside entrance was through a large, open archway that faced the sea, although it could be accessed almost anywhere from the inside. It wouldn't take them long to reach it. They raced through the corridors, where a few druids had gathered after no doubt hearing the message, and through the large wooden doors until they were out on the cobblestones.

Gale stood in the center, leaning heavily on Dafydd. His head and leg had been bound, no doubt by Gaius, who stood nearby in case the boy needed further support despite his insistence that he was fine. Hunith was with them, watching on in concern as Gilbert fussed over Gale, both of them talking over each other.

"Take him to his chambers," Gilbert was ordering Dafydd, while Gale said, "It's fine. Just a sprain and a tiny, minuscule, little bump on the head. I can walk _and _talk and–look, I'll show–_ouch_."

"What happened to you?" Gareth demanded, moving to Gale's side. "Don't tell me you hit yourself around the head with your own sword again."

Gale shot him a glare as Brangaine took his free arm, so he could take more weight off his ankle. "_Again_?"

"Merlin!" Hunith breathed in relief, when she saw him standing a few paces behind Gareth and Gale. She rushed towards him and threw her arms around his neck, pulling away when she noticed the sling that bound his injured shoulder and chest. "What happened?"

It was Merlin's turn to insist, "It's nothing."

"Patrol gone wrong," Gwaine supplied instead. "Happens a lot, actually."

Merlin glared at the knight. Hunith looked momentarily alarmed, but quickly recovered with a smile and an amused, "It's good to see you again, Sir Gwaine."

Gwaine gave her a charming smile. "The pleasure's all mine."

Giving Gwaine a firm look, accompanied by a light elbow in the ribs, Merlin moved to where Gaius stood, embracing the physician as he had his mother.

"I'm glad you're all right, Merlin," Gaius said.

Merlin smiled, glancing around the courtyard, expecting to see Gwen standing somewhere nearby. He had a lot to tell her–or explain, most likely. "Where's Gwen?"

Gaius seemed to pale.

"Where is she?" Merlin demanded. "Gaius?"

"I'm so sorry, Merlin." Gale, who must have overheard, hobbled towards him, shaking Dafydd off when the large sorcerer offered his support. He spoke more seriously and earnestly that Merlin had ever heard him do so before. "Morgana is already in Camelot. She sent a patrol after us and–I _tried_ to fight them, but… Agravaine took her–he took Gwen." The young boy bowed his head in defeat, and Merlin was suddenly reminded that Gale was only just nineteen, barely used to duty or sacrifice. "I have failed you, Emrys, and I am sorry."

Before Merlin had the chance to speak, to tell him that _of course _he hadn't failed (and _please _do not start calling him Emrys as well), Gareth was by Gale's side, declaring adamantly, with one arm thrown around his brother's slumped shoulders, "You have done no such thing."

Smiling in a way he hoped would reassure Gale, despite the bubbling worry and fear in his chest, Merlin nodded in agreement. "He's right. You haven't failed, Gale."

"But–"

"Gaius and my mother are safe," Merlin interrupted. "_You _are safe. And we will get Gwen back. That's what matters. Now listen to your father and get some rest."

"I–I'm still sorry," Gale mumbled.

"_Rest_."

With one arm around Dafydd's shoulders and the other around Gareth's, Gale limped into the manor with Brangaine close on their heels. Gilbert lingered for only a moment to tell them to meet in the private banquet room in an hour, before following after them.

* * *

After finding Gauis and Hunith somewhere to stay in the manor–neither of them had any injuries that needed tending to, but were tired and shell-shocked from the unusual methods in which Dafydd had got them to the safe house–Merlin and Gwaine were the first to the meeting room. It was the same one Gilbert and Gareth had taken Gwaine to the day before. They were the only two people in there, Gwaine perched causally in the same chair he'd chosen previously, feat propped up on the table, and Merlin pacing restlessly back and forth.

"Merlin, sit down. You know what Brangaine said about resting," Gwaine said. Merlin didn't appear to have heard. "_Merlin_."

Merlin stopped suddenly at the demand, giving him an expectant look.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine."

Gwaine sighed. "A man who is all right does not pace, Merlin."

Pulling out the chair opposite Gwaine, he sat down and crossed his arms. "See. I'm fine."

"Oh, Merlin, you're so _convincing_," Gwaine drawled sarcastically. "If this is about Gwen, then firstly, it's not your fault. And secondly, she will be _fine_. Arthur is in Camelot–possessed or not, he's not going to let anything happen to her."

"_Morgana _is in Camelot."

"True. But what's to say she'll hurt Gwen? She wanted her alive, did she not?" Gwaine reasoned. "I'm as worried as you are, Merlin. I don't want to see Gwen hurt, but there's nothing you can do now–especially with Morgana _in _Camelot."

"She's going to take the throne any day now," Merlin muttered. "And we're expected just to stay here and let her."

"I don't know about that. But I suppose–"

Merlin shook his head. "Gilbert says we need an army, a battle strategy–that we have to wait until the time it right."

"You know, he's had years of experience. I'd say he's probably right." Merlin tried to argue, but Gwaine spoke before he could, "Because right now, you're in no state to be fighting–_don't _try to deny it; whatever spell or concoction the Druids could fix you up, you still wouldn't be back to full strength, and with the Mirror of Disaster or whatever it's called at Morgana's disposal, it's not going to be easy to defeat her. You're the one that said it'll take the force of war to win and we don't even have an army."

"And Arthur and Gwen? The rest of Camelot? What are they going to do?"

"They will have to be patient, and strong," Gwaine replied. "I hate the idea of them suffering, I _hate _knowing I have failed them, but what good are we to them dead? It'll take time, but we _will _save them."

"How can you know?"

"Instinct. Faith. Many other deep, poetical words." Gwaine paused to smirk at his own joke. "But I know we are doing the right thing."

Eventually, Merlin smiled. He still looked sad; Gwaine wondered if that look in his eyes, the heaviness of an unimaginable burden, would ever go away, even when they did reclaim Camelot.

"Thanks, Gwaine."

"For what? Telling your dragon to 'giddy up'?"

The Knights of the Round Table were going to be famous–for making others laugh at hugely inappropriate times.

Gilbert and Gareth arrived sometime later, with Dafydd and, unexpectedly, Gaius not far behind them. They took places at varying places around the large table, with little more than quiet greetings.

As soon as everyone was seated, it was Gwaine who spoke first, with a surprisingly concerned, "How is he?"

"He has a mild concussion and a sprained ankle. Nothing a little rest won't fix," Gareth replied. Glancing at his father, he added, "His ego, however, may be a little worse for wear; I doubt he'll be quick to forgive himself for what happened. You might have to talk to him again, Merlin."

Merlin nodded. "I will."

"What happened anyway? He's not–_terrible_ at fighting and even so, this guy was with him. The knights of Camelot are good, but we have spent the last how many years being outsmarted by a sorcerer or two," Gwaine said, winking at Merlin across the table. "Surely, you could have done something."

"'This guy' is Dafydd," Gareth said. "And there's more to the story than what I'm sure you're presuming. Dafydd?"

"The knights had a particular magical impression that one rarely sees in someone that has no experienced in the practice of magic," Dafydd explained. "Not only were they completely under Morgana's command–which leads us to believe she is already in Camelot–but they were unstoppable. They could not be killed, no matter what we did. No injury, no matter how debilitating, phased them. My main priority was to protect Gale and Guinevere, and so we were forced to flee. I had not realized, though I should have, that Agravaine had taken knights aside for the sole purpose of retrieving Guinevere and returning her to Camelot. By the time that I did realize, it was too late. I took Gale to Ealdor for treatment and when he had recovered enough, I bought him here with Gaius and Hunith. I could not have gone after Agravaine and his men. I did, however, manage to put a protective enchantment on Guinevere. Morgana should not be able to harm her with magic."

"Good. Thank you, Dafydd."

"It was the least I could do. I regret that she had to return to Camelot under such circumstances."

"They'll be in Camelot by now, then?"

"Most likely," Dafydd agreed. "They found us remarkably fast. I had shielded our camp and was surveying the area, but I did not sense their approach. Morgana must have aided their attack somehow."

"Magically?"

Dafydd nodded.

"So they're, what…. indestructible? We couldn't kill the knights even if we wanted to?" Gwaine questioned.

Gareth raised his eyebrows slightly. "_Do_ you want to?"

"Of course not! Do you think I like the idea of my men, my _friends_, following Morgana's every command?" Gwaine hissed. "You know that I would take my own life before I even thought about taking a single one of theirs."

"To answer your question," Gilbert cut in, giving his son a warning look. Gareth glanced apologetically at Gwaine. "No, we do not know of a way to kill them. While we know not the full capabilities of the Mirror, we know enough that it is highly unlikely a method will become apparent to us any time soon."

"I think I might know of a way," Merlin said. "A sword forged in dragon's breath."

"If there were any way the knights could be defeated, it would be that," Gaius agreed.

Merlin sighed. "But Gwaine's right–none of us want them dead."

"And Morgana knows that," Gareth added. "She's using it to her advantage. She knows that whatever resistance she's met with, they'll hesitate to kill their own men."

"Exactly," Gwaine muttered. "Anyone in Camelot that might rebel would be going against their own friends and family to do so. That's a sacrifice no one should have to so much as consider."

"They might not have to," Gaius said.

Everyone turned to look at him. "What do you mean?"

"The knights are simply apparitions of their former selves," Gaius replied. "They take no solid form."

Even Gilbert looked confused by Gaius' statement.

"They're _what_, exactly?" Gwaine asked.

"Ghosts," Merlin guessed. "It's the Mirror of Deception. She's _deceiving_ us."

Gwaine frowned. "I still don't get it."

"Neither do I," Gareth murmured. "But this is getting weirder and weirder. And I don't like weird."

"You have no sense of adventure," Gwaine accused.

"Can you blame me when _this _counts as an 'adventure'?"

"Merlin," Gilbert said, before Gareth or Gwaine could bicker any further. "Would you please explain it to us?"

"Impaling the knights with a magical blade wouldn't kill them," Merlin elaborated. "It would return them to their mortal form."

"Merlin is correct," Gaius agreed.

"Nope." Gwaine slumped further into his chair with a loud, frustrated sigh. "Still don't get it. Start from the beginning?"

"That sounds like a sensible idea." Gilbert nodded at Gaius. "Gauis, I take it you are familiar with the history of the Mirror?"

"I am."

"Then please, fill us in."

"A great many years ago," Gaius began. "The Mirror was created by the first High Priests and Priestesses to allow them to better communicate with the deities of the Old Religion, and harness the magic of the earth with more selective and focused methods. It granted them with the ability to take magic from another magical being, object or even shrine. At first, it was used for good, but hunger for the power it possessed lead eventually to what some call the Infinite War, for it spanned many centuries until there were too little people left to fight, and what is now Camelot and the kingdoms beyond were rendered a wasteland. Only one High Priestess, of the many that fought against each other for the Mirror, survived.

The High Priestess that the Mirror fell to, when the war finally came to an end, put a heavy price on its power–eighty human souls, one for each of her ancestors that had been involved in the conflict. No mortal would be able to participate in such a ritual. There a very few people with the magical capability either."

"Why didn't she just seal it off for good?" Gareth asked. "That would have saved everyone a lot of trouble."

"At the time, she sought revenge. She blamed her many losses on anyone who fought in the battle and rather than grant them peace, she trapped their souls and therefore magic within the Mirror's glass, which simply added to its power," Gaius replied. "However, her son convinced her that the Mirror must be taken somewhere none could use it and the magic it possessed made inactive. The Priestess took crystals from the Crystal Cave and used them to bind the magic within the glass, adding the price of the souls so that the power was inaccessible even if the Mirror was found. It took all her magic to do such a thing and she died shortly afterwards, leaving her son the Mirror. His life was dedicated to locating Avalon. It is said that upon his final breath, he threw the Mirror into the waters and was accepted into the Isle for his sacrifice."

"But Morgana has it now–and she has full access to its power, apparently."

"It was a few centuries later, hailing from the Mage dynasty–"

"Oh, oh, I know them!" Gwaine exclaimed, before Gauis could go on. "They were the first Kings and Queens–well, the Old Religion equivalent–known to exist. Weren't they the most powerful magic-users ever to live?"

Everyone was staring at him. Sheepishly, he mumbled, "Sorry."

"They were, yes." Gaius glanced at Merlin, in a way that told Gwaine that they _were _the most powerful magic-users ever to live, but things had changed. "As I was saying, Goreu Mage, hailing from her dynasty, sought out the Mirror to defeat his uncle, Ysbaddaden."

"That's _true_? The Legend of Ysbaddaden's Mount isn't just a legend?" Gareth demanded.

"Yes."

"Bloody hell," Gwaine said, eyes as wide as Gareth's. They looked like two children that had been told their favorite bedtime story wasn't just as story–which was exactly what Gaius was saying. "There were _giants_?"

Merlin smirked. "Once."

"You knew?"

Merlin's smile grew. "Yep."

"So the Pendragon's, are they actually related to this Goreu?"

"That, no one knows," Gaius continued. "The association most likely comes from the method in which Goreu retrieved the Mirror. Uther's father took Camelot by force when Uther himself was just a boy, but the Pendragon's are still of royal decent. In order to retrieve the Mirror, Goreu sacrificed one of the Pendragon descendants to the Sidhe in exchange for their release of the Mirror."

"I thought that he was a good man–a man of honor," Gareth said.

"Arguably, he was."

"I doesn't sound like it."

"There was no other way to retrieve the Mirror." This time, it was Merlin that answered.

"The sacrifice was a willing one," Gaius added. "Goreu himself could have made it, but he was the only one powerful enough to use the Mirror, for even rendered dormant by the crystals it was of some use–enough to defeat Ysbaddaden. I presume you are familiar with the rest of the legend?"

"Goreu released his magic into Ysbaddaden's Mount upon his death?"

"And Morgana used that magic, along with her own, to complete the ritual," Gilbert finished. "It was the only way she would be powerful enough."

Gaius smiled in approval. "Precisely."

"That doesn't explain how it came into her possession," Gwaine stated.

"Morgause," Dafydd finally spoke up.

"_Morgause_?"

"For many years after Goreu's death, it was used for simple and mostly harmless means–"

"It hardly sounds _harmless_," Gwaine scoffed, interrupting Gaius yet again.

"They would have used it to scry," Merlin offered.

Gwaine looked thoughtfully oblivious. "Scry? Sounds like spy."

Gareth chuckled. "That is the general purpose of that particular branch of magic: to spy on one's enemies using a reflective object. Mirrors, crystals, water–anything of that variety."

"Can't we use that on Morgana?"

"We could try," Merlin said. "But Morgause would have taught her all about it. She'll know enough to counter our attempts."

"And we'd risk giving away our destination," Gareth added.

Gilbert didn't look like he had heard much after the mention of Morgause. "We knew of Morgause and Vivienne's affiliation with the Mirror, but I do not understand _how _it could have gotten into their possession?"

Gareth, Merlin and Gwaine fell quiet in interest.

"As I'm sure you know, Vivienne's short stay on the Isle of the Blessed sparked her feud with Nimueh," Gaius answered. "They were forever in competition. Although Vivienne never became a High Priestess, she wielded the Mirror far better than Nimueh ever could. The other High Priestesses became concerned and after a number of… _mishaps_ because of their continuing rivalry, the Mirror was returned to Avalon before either were drawn to its true power, but I fear Vivienne had already been tempted.

The Purge followed shortly after that. Vivienne set out to find Avalon and the Mirror, most likely in vengeance or fear, but the destination was concealed from her and she could not stray far from her home, not when Uther visited them so regularly."

"Is that what drove her to madness?" Dafydd asked.

"Perhaps, although it would not have been the only attribute."

"When she returned here," Gilbert murmured, a distant look in his eyes. "She was obsessed with Avalon. I did not understand it, nor the ramifications of my actions when we warranted her visit there. Dafydd and I accompanied her ourselves, but nothing seemed amiss, though she left the very next day."

"We have reason to believe that she went to Morgause," Dafydd said. "And told her of the Mirror before her final disappearance."

"It was Morgause who took the Mirror from Avalon as Goreu did," Gaius confirmed. "She struck a different bargain with the Sidhe. The Sidhe pride themselves in being the oldest creatures of the Old Religion, but the Dochraid challenged that. Morgause agreed to kill the Dochraid in exchange for the Mirror. The Sidhe, driven by greed and spite, were happy to oblige. They were ignorant, however, to the Dochraid's knowledge of the Mirror's power."

Merlin frowned. "But the Dochraid is alive."

"Ector sent men to Ysbaddaden's Mount," Gilbert replied. "They found the Dochraid's body there, but very little else."

"Morgana must have been made aware of the bargain, then."

"She would have been aware that the Dochraid knew the spell which would enable her to harness the Mirror's power, yes, but whether she knew of the bargain or killed the Dochraid out of greed, we cannot know. But we do believe she has harnessed the Dochraid's magic for her own, using the Mirror."

"So the Mirror's powerful, we know that, but what can it actually _do_?" Gwaine cut in. "And more importantly, what, exactly, has it done to the knights?"

"The ritual is a complicated one. Perhaps–"

"_Gaius_," Gilbert interrupted. "Nimueh knew of the Mirror's power better than anyone–even Vivienne. I am not foolish enough to believe that she would not have educated you on the matter."

"Very well," Gaius said, sighing. "Morgana would have managed to lure the knights to Ysbaddaden's Mount somehow–most likely with help, either from Agravaine or another ally. The ritual requires only one of the knights, one with the closest bond to the others; someone they would all consider their leader."

"Would she have chosen Leon?" Gwaine guessed.

Merlin shrugged in reply.

"The ritual involves first breaking down the barricades that protect one's soul; whatever power Morgana could have accessed with the Mirror mostly dormant would have seen to that well enough. Once that is done, the soul can be taken freely and, though Leon's (if he was the chosen) camaraderie with the other knights, their souls would also become reachable. That, I believe, is what would have caused the storm: Morgana's summoning of the Mirror's power."

Gwaine turned to Merlin. "Is that what you… sensed?"

"I think that was the completion of the spell," Merlin replied.

Gareth, Gilbert and Gaius looked at him with varying degrees of alarm. Even Dafydd looked concerned by what Merlin had said.

"What happened?"

"I could hear her reciting the spell. It didn't feel right. The magic she was using was–painful. And more powerful than any spell I'd felt before," Merlin explained. "When it was over, it was as though… we were there. We were the souls inside the Mirror."

"You _and _Morgana?"

Merlin nodded. "I think it was a prophecy of sorts. A warning."

"Did you see anything of great importance?"

"No. I don't remember much of it, now."

They all knew he was lying. Gwaine was giving Merlin a long, level look that said he wouldn't get away with it, but the knight was the first to speak again, "What's the point in the ritual? And what happens when the spell is completed?"

Gaius was giving Merlin the same, _I'm not letting this go_ look. "The point of the ritual is to ensure that if someone were to access the power, those whose souls were taken would remain loyal to the sorcerer or sorceress completing the ritual, and prevent them from falling prey to the madness that drove many during the Infinite War. What the High Priestess did not anticipate, was that the new Mirror-bearer would be in full control of their loyalty. A loyalty so fierce that they would have no choice but to follow the Mirror-bearer's every command.

When the spell is completed, the knights will be under Morgana's control. Their souls are in her possession and without them, they can take no mortal form. While they may appear as they always have, it is merely an illusion; a deception, as Merlin said. They do not think or feel beyond Morgana's orders, for they are ghosts, shadows of their former selves. Think of it this way: they are simply armor with nobody inside, controlled by an external force. And like armor, they can take almost any blow, any spell, and can be as easily fixed as they are broken, for Morgana has taken away any capacity to _feel_ and made them her immortal servants. They have their own armor, and that is the Mirror's magic. Magic is their only life force now; it is the only thing that sustains them without a soul."

Gwaine stood abruptly and went to stand by the window, his shoulders tense. Merlin watched him for a moment. Then, adjusting the material of the sling around his arm, he asked, "Would a sword like Excalibur work?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"So there is a way of stopping them?"

"The magic in Excalibur would banish both Morgana and the Mirror's power from the vessel."

"The vessel being the knights?" Merlin questioned. Gaius nodded. "And it's that magic that took and has possession of their souls. By banishing it–"

"–Their souls will be returned to them," Gwaine finished, turning away from the window with a grim look of satisfaction. "I get it now."

Gareth, however, still looked confused. "And being run through wouldn't harm them? If Excalibur can kill even the immortal, surely it would kill them too, especially if this magic it supposedly banishes is in fact their 'life force'?"

"The retuning of a soul to ones body is almost as spectacular as the taking of it," Gaius explained. "It would cleanse the body of any magical or non-magical malaise, even a wound from Excalibur. And once their souls have been returned, they will not need the Mirror's magic to sustain them."

Gwaine's anger had vanished, replaced with a devilish grin that begged for action. "Then where is this sword?"

"In a rock," Gareth said. "And I'm not sure letting is loose on Morgana just yet is a good idea. Kilgharrah certainly won't be happy about it–and you're not exactly in his good books as it is, Gwaine."

"_Let is go_," Gwaine growled.

Gareth grinned. "Never."

Gilbert yet again put a quick end to their playful quarrelling, "If the sword were to fall into the wrong hands, Gwaine, it too could be used for the wrong means, just as the Mirror has been."

"And technically, it belongs to Arthur," Gareth added.

"Great. _Brilliant_," Gwaine snapped venomously. "The _only _plan we have and–"

"I will speak to Kilgharrah about it," Merlin announced, before the knight could continue.

Gwaine seemed to relax at this, smiling slightly and suddenly, the tension leaving his shoulders. "Well, then, sounds foolproof."

"Whatever happens, the Mirror needs to be destroyed," Dafydd said. "That was the mistake many made in the past, not ending it once and for all."

Gilbert nodded in agreement. "But the question is, how?"

"That, I cannot answer," Gaius admitted. "But I believe there is someone who can."

"Who?"

"There is a legend that the High Priestess who took possession of the Mirror rests at the Pool of Nemhain."

"The Pool of _what_?"

"One of the Five Gateways to the Spirit World," Gaius replied. "It is said its waters are black as night and still as death itself, and it is there that you will find her."

"Then I must go," Merlin decided.

"She will demand a heavy price," Gaius warned. "You will not be granted leave until it is fulfilled."

"I am willing to pay the price, if it must be done to save Camelot."

No one spoke for a while. Gwaine reclaimed his seat at the table, slumping in the chair with a look of thoughtful worry that the other members of their small meeting shared.

"Is there no other way?" Gilbert asked of Gaius.

"I'm afraid not."

Gilbert turned to Merlin. "And you are willing to pay the proposed price?"

"Yes," Merlin replied.

"Very well." Gilbert placed his hand on Merlin's uninjured shoulder. "You will travel to the Pool of Nemhain as soon as Brangaine deems you fit to travel. And in the meantime, we prepare to reclaim Camelot."

* * *

**A/N: **aaand we have an explanation about the knights. I hope it made sense. Hopefully, in the next couple of chapters: how Gwen and Arthur are managing in Camelot, what Morgana is up to now (because she's always up to something) and Merlin's quest to the Pool of Nemhain. Then some action. Gotta love action. Camelot can't be Morgana's forever, after all.

Feedback is much appreciated :)


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

**A Master of Two Servants: **Morgana uses the fomorroh to manipulate Arthur into hunting down and killing Emrys. Little do they know the man they are both searching for is much closer than they think … AU of 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Warnings: **gore and violence. Spoilers up to and for 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Disclaimer: **Merlin is not mine. It belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

A Master of Two Servants

Chapter Twenty-Two

The most warning he got was Morgana's sudden appearance and announcement of, "There's someone here who I'm sure you'd like to see," before she decided, yet again, to demonstrate her newfound powers and vanished in the same abrupt manner that she'd appeared in, with nothing but a curt nod in the guards' direction.

Arthur was hoisted from his cold, damp cell where, for the last four days, he had dwelled uselessly on Merlin's magic, Guinevere's escape and Morgana's upcoming coronation, and dragged up the steps. His captivity, while short, had not been kind to him. His legs were weak and unsteady beneath him from lack of use, past and long-forgotten injuries made more than ghostly remembrances by the cold of the changing seasons. Whenever he tripped, the guards hauled him back up and forcing him onwards, until they came to a stop outside of the Throne Room.

Pushing the doors open and him inside, they took up their positions outside while he took in the scene before him. A number of knights and councilmen were already in position in the room, all looking at him. The knights appeared impassive, uncaring–he was dismayed to see Elyan and Percival among their ranks, with the same blank expressions.

The councilmen, on the other hand, stood with looks of poorly concealed fear and less prominent anger. They had most likely not been enchanted, but threatened. Morgana, from her old days at court, certainly knew enough about them to ensure that they were loyal to her without any need for magic. For those she hadn't known, surely there was a spell of sorts that would enable her to find the information she required.

Morgana stood in front of the throne, wearing the crown Arthur had found in his chambers not long ago in coordination with a lavish gown of dark purple, gold and black that she must have had recently made. Although she was not queen yet (and while he was sure the people knew not of her presence within Camelot), she certainly looked like one

Agravaine, to his surprise, stood at the bottom of the steps with a smug, triumphant smile as he watched the crowd part and Arthur approach the steps. As the councilmen and knights moved aside, the only mercy he was given by the men still loyal to him being their adverting of eyes in his time of weakness, he saw that Agravaine wasn't alone. A few paces in front of him, on her knees, was Guinevere.

She was wearing the less formal riding gear he recognized from their last battle against Morgana–brown breeches and boots, and a plain white tunic, but the sword he had given her was missing and her hands were bound behind her back with a long line of well tied rope. A cloth gag hung loose around her neck. The look in her eyes, as they followed his approach, was one of determination and courage; her fear was masked far better than any of the councilmen had managed.

Arthur's desperation to go to her was easily outweighed by Morgana's compulsion. The fomorroh pulled him up the steps and to her side. A hand snaked out and grasped his arm, and with a jolt of unfamiliar magic, his knees strengthened and his muscles cooperated.

"Do take your place, brother," Morgana hissed, quiet enough that no one other than he would hear, and with a smile that could fool anyone into thinking she was greeting him pleasantly. "We've been _eagerly_ anticipating your arrival."

Apparently, his place was a few steps behind her, to the left. Agravaine joined him as soon as Arthur was in position, taking his own place to Morgana's right. Despite being unguarded now that Agravaine had stepped away, Gwen was clever enough to know any attempt to escape would be pointless, and remained where she had been, eyes now locked on Morgana.

"Behold!" Morgana addressed the crowd, smirking. "The woman who is being hailed _Queen_ of the peoples' Hearts." She paused dramatically. As if prompted, there was a chorus of amused, disbelieving scoffs–unforced from the knights and hesitant from the councilmen. They stopped as soon as she spoke again, sneering, "I do believe that position has already been taken, has it not, Agravaine?"

"It has, my lady," Agravaine replied. Arthur would have glared at him if the fomorroh didn't have the reigns.

Morgana turned to him next, with raised eyebrows and a sickly sweet smile. "Arthur?"

Arthur inclined his head slightly in agreement, but out of sheer stubbornness, he managed to prevent the fomorroh from echoing Agravaine's words. A brief flash of anger passing over Morgana's cool features, the only sign that she acknowledged the rebellion, but was gone the moment she turned back to the crowd.

"We are here to put an end to such madness," Morgana continued. "For the serving girl before you is nothing but a traitor. She would see me _overthrown_!"

Appropriately appalled noises followed. Morgana hushed them with a wave of her hand. The crowd watched as she strolled down the steps so that she stood right in front of Gwen, who watched her every move with caution and hatred.

With a flash of gold eyes, the ropes around Gwen's wrists fell freely to the floor. Free of her restraints, Gwen pulled her red-raw wrists to her chest, but didn't move or flinch away even when Morgana came closer. Morgana offered her hand to the serving girl she had once called a friend, and the look in her eyes, for a minute moment, was not one of disgust, but reminiscence. Gwen stared up at her, silent, her sad eyes portraying anything she could have said; _what happened to you, Morgana?_

It was over quickly. Morgana's look of collectedness returned and she took Gwen's hand forcefully, pulling her up to stand beside her. Lifting their joined hands, eyes still burning gold, Morgana said to the crowd, "I am here to show you that it is not a barbaric dictatorship I wish to bestow upon you; that I am willing to forgive, as I will forgive Guinevere today for her treachery."

As if to prove Morgana's point, the rope burns around Gwen's wrists healed and, like Arthur, the exhaustion seemed to leave her in a hurry, so that she stood straighter and stronger.

"Guinevere will take up her previous position as my maidservant," Morgana announced. "And from this day forward, it is not her that you shall know as the Queen, but _I_, Morgana Pendragon. For tomorrow, the throne will be mine–as it has always rightfully been. But take heed: I will not be as forgiving the next time someone dares oppose me."

This time, it was cheers that echoed through the Throne Room.

* * *

It was Morgana that escorted them _personally _to Arthur's chambers. Arthur followed because of the fomorroh. Gwen followed because she had no other choice. When they were inside, Morgan closed the door with an enchantment and motioned at the table, snapping for them to, "Sit."

Both obliged. The fomorroh, sensing its work was done, retreated.

"What do you want from us, Morgana?" Gwen demanded.

"Very little, considering the circumstances," Morgana replied. "Keep up appearances and I may just grant you quick deaths."

"How merciful of you, Morgana," Arthur said, with a cold glare.

Gwen's eyes flickered briefly to his in surprise. _She knows about the fomorroh_, Arthur realized.

"Do remember that I still have you under my full control," Morgan snapped. "And if that is not incentive enough to behave, then perhaps dear Gwen's presence in Camelot can sway you. After all, I still haven't practiced that new spell of mine."

Arthur's expression of both anger and fear earned a satisfied smirk from Morgana.

"Do enjoy your last night together. We have a busy few months ahead of us and I think it best you two are kept apart. Wouldn't want you plotting against me now, would we?" Her smile grew icy. "You would do well to remember who is in charge. The moment I take up the crown, you both will be_ nothing_."

And with that, she left, spelling the door locked as she did.

* * *

"I'm a leverage, aren't I?"

They had been eating in silence–out of some sick ambition to keep them alive for her devious plans, Morgana had sent up a lavish meal for them both to pick at–until Gwen asked. Arthur looked up from his still-full plate. They had also been sent new outfits, Arthur having been forced to stand in front of his most trusted men in his night clothes, and Gwen still in her riding gear. The clothes, as if to fit with their picture of unity, were similar to the garments Morgana had been wearing.

"If the fomorroh isn't enough to control you," Gwen continued. Arthur had explained, briefly, that the fomorroh was dormant now, that it would pay very little attention to their conversation. "Then she will use me to '_sway_' you through what I'm sure will be unpleasant means."

Arthur returned to staring miserably at his dinner. The fomorroh remained dormant even at the mention of its–gods, could he call it a _name_? "She sees you as a threat."

"I'm not a threat. How could I ever outmatch Morgana?"

"Well, she is right," Arthur said, managing a small smile. "The people have accepted you as their future Queen."

Gwen sighed. "I doubt that will matter now."

Arthur's hands clenched angrily around the arms of his chair. "I won't let her hurt you."

"What choice will you have? If you find someway around that enchantment of hers, you must take every chance you're given," she insisted. "And if that means leaving me behind, so be it. I would gladly sacrifice myself for Camelot."

"_Guinevere_–"

"_Arthur_," Gwen interrupted. "Promise me. If there is _any way _to win this war, you will take it no matter what."

Gwen knew Merlin was alive, Arthur was sure of that much. And if he wasn't mistaken, she was asking him to forgive Merlin's magic, to accept it, if it meant that Camelot could be saved. She knew about that too, then.

Arthur looked up at her. Somehow, in only a few days, he'd forgotten how beautiful she was, how much he loved those kind eyes of hers. He managed a small, if somewhat reluctant, smile. She took that as answer enough, replying with her own grin.

But it wasn't an answer. Arthur didn't know that if it ever came down to it, he could do what she asked of him. He hoped time would not tell.

* * *

It was late into the night that Guinevere uncurled herself from Arthur's bed and crept out into the corridor. The lock opening for her when it had not for Arthur proved her theory correct: when Dafydd had told her to run from the fight, his eyes had been gold because he'd enchanted her with some kind of protective spell. That was why the device Agravaine had used to reach them so quickly–one of Morgana's many old artifacts kept from Morgause–didn't work when they tried to return in the same manner. Thankfully, Agravaine had not been suspicious.

Celyn was waiting not far down the corridor. Gale, during their conversation by the stream, and Arthur, far more subtly, had told her to seek the young knight-in-training out. She had talked to him only once or twice–the first time being when Gwaine sent him and the rest of his trainees on a ridiculous mission to steal food from the kitchens without Audrey realizing, right before an incredibly important feast, which was most likely why he seemed a little afraid of her, considering she had given the knight and his students a good telling-off–but the boy seemed not only a good fighter, but a good man. Perhaps he would be an ally among the enchanted knights.

"My lady," he whispered in greeting.

"Please, call me Gwen," she replied in an equally hushed tone. "I take it Morgana will be oblivious to this… meeting."

"The spell protects us from any sort of enchantment Morgana may put on us. That includes scrying," Celyn explained. "Although it will appear effective, no detrimental spell she could cast upon either of us will work."

"So the healing spell earlier–it was not detrimental, so this spell did not protect me from it?"

"Yes."

"Magic really is a force for good, isn't it?" Gwen murmured with a smile.

"That has been brought to my attention recently also." Celyn returned to grin. "And I do believe that yes, magic is most certainly good."

"I'm glad."

"As am I."

"Why is it that you summoned me here, Celyn?" Gwen asked.

"I was hoping that you would provide me with the means to send word to a _good _friend of ours."

A good fighter, and rather clever man also. Gwen only hoped that he would understand what she told him next, for even protected, she did not want to outright reveal the destination when they could still be overheard.

"The destination is undecided. But the tides are always changing; no one can know for _shore_."

Celyn looked momentarily thrown by her riddle. Then he grinned in understand. _Gedref_–a shoreline as undecided as its unruly tides. "I will take care to ensure we can remain in covert communication with them."

"Thank you."

"If I can, I will keep you informed."

"You must exercise caution," Gwen warned. "We all must. But a time will come when the time for caution is over, and Camelot will be returned to freedom."

"I do not doubt it, my lady."

"Gwen. Please," she reminded him. "Now we best go, before someone notices our absence."

* * *

The sun was what woke Arthur and Gwen the next morning. A nervous servant bought them breakfast and told them the coronation would be taking place at noon, the people informed only that an important announcement would be made. They dressed and ate in silence and when they had finished, stood broodingly at the window as they watched people arrive for the coronation, unaware that that was the ceremony taking place.

"Will she use the fomorroh?" Gwen asked quietly.

"Most likely," Arthur replied. For now, the fomorroh was still inactive. "Though I doubt it'll be happy about it."

Gwen looked somewhat disgusted. "It has _feelings_?"

Arthur nodded.

"And you can _feel _them?"

"Yes."

"That's… strange," Gwen muttered.

Arthur hummed in agreement. She put a gentle hand on his arm.

"It will be all right, Arthur," she promised.

He put his arms around her waist and pulled her towards him for a kiss. She smiled against his lips and whispered, "Camelot belongs to you."

"To _us_," he mumbled contently. "Queen of _my_ Heart."

She chuckled and put her arms around his neck.

They were interrupted by commotion outside of the door. Agravaine seemed to be trying to undo the spell Morgana had put on the door. Finally, after a few failed attempts and much frustrated cursing, Agravaine came crashing ungracefully into the chambers. He straightened and smiled. By the time had had gotten inside, they had stepped apart.

"Morgana demands your presence in the Throne Room antechamber," Agravaine said. "I wouldn't keep her waiting if I were you."

They barged past Agravaine with deliberate disgust, which he shrugged off with a dark laugh–after all, they were the ones at Morgana's mercy–before following after them.

It wasn't long before they were in the smaller chamber beside the Throne Room, which allowed access at the very back. Morgana stood at the window, the Mirror in her hands, staring at seemingly nothing. Agravaine took a seat at the table and poured himself a glass of wine, seeming rather pleased with his new position of power. Arthur and Gwen remained standing.

"This time," Morgana said eventually, without looking away from the window. "I believe my position as Queen will be more permanent."

"I don't," Arthur said.

Morgana only smiled. "And who will stop me this time? _Emrys_? Say what you wish, brother; you won't have freedom of speech for much longer. In fact, perhaps you would like to know exactly what you are going to say today."

Gwen flinched, but did not move away, as Morgana vanished from her place at the window and reappeared, in the same moment, only a step or two from where she stood with Arthur.

Stepping forward, and ignoring Gwen completely, Morgana placed a hand on Arthur's arm, eyes flashing gold. Every move he was to make, every word he was to speak, imprinted suddenly on his mind, a heavy and overwhelming wave of magical information that would have caused him to stumble back if Morgana hadn't dug her fingernails into his arm to keep him in place. He wasn't used to having such blinding and imminent purpose, not even during his goose chase for Emrys; and nor was he used to being able to recall a speech so well, almost as though it rested on the table right in front of him, the words bold and visible for him to read out loud. The drumming in his head subsided eventually, but the strange sense of disorientation remained, almost as though he was dreaming.

For a while, things were blurred and distorted as Morgana, Agravaine and even Gwen moved around the antechamber–he wasn't sure if he moved with them–and before he even realized, by the time anything came into proper focus, he was standing in front of an audience similar to the one that had gathered yesterday after Gwen's capture. This time, however, his people lingered among the knights, the room filled to full capacity and the audience spilling out into the corridors, snaking out into the courtyard below.

Gwen and Agravaine stood behind him. He couldn't see Morgana, but a voice that sounded suspiciously like hers was reminding him that they were _her _people now. Exactly as he had been instructed, he moved forward and the crowd fell silent. The words rang clear in his head and soon, they were spilling from his mouth, giving him no room for compromise.

"People of Camelot," Arthur found himself saying. "For many years, you have been loyal to the Pendragon name. You have rewarded us with your loyalty, your trust–and together we have stood strong against all adversities.

All adversities, but one. For you have supported us, but not out cause. My father, Uther Pendragon, sought to defeat and destroy magic. He led a cruel and unnecessary pursuit that left innocent children parentless, homes and homesteads destroyed, and a prejudice I fear will linger long after my rule in its wake. Camelot, a kingdom of unity and equality, became a place of fear and insecurity. And unlike my father, you, the people of Camelot, had no choice but to adopt this hatred, this terror of magic, even if it too left you bereft.

But do you not remember a time when those with magic lived alongside those without? Have you not told your children stories of the goodness in magic when the sun had long since set, and you knew that, for the first time in a very, very long while, Uther's tyranny could not reach you?

Before now, I myself could not have confessed to such experiences. I grew up surrounded by the prejudice and fear we still live in, and it is only recently that I have seen the good in magic, and in those who possess it. Because it is not magic that corrupts; it is power and greed. I can see now that it was not magic that corrupted Camelot, but my father.

I have lived in his example. In some ways, his shadow. I have continued his tyranny, and I stand before you now unworthy. I cannot know your fear; I cannot revoke the wrongs that my father committed. I know of only one way that I can begin to right all that he did.

My sister, Morgana Pendragon, has suffered most at the hands of our father. She has been outcast for her magic, the same hate forced upon her as that forced upon the many who lost their lives during the Purge. Uther would have seen her dead for something she could not help.

I do not share the same views. And I swear to you now that if someone does understand the losses you have suffered, the fear you have been forced to live in and the doubt that has followed you even to the kingdoms beyond your own, it is she.

And so I stand before you in askance that from today onwards, it is not just the Pendragon name you are loyal to, but our new cause to repeal the ban instated on magic and return it to the land."

There was a ripple of surprise through the crowd, a collection of gasps of outrage and disbelief. Arthur continued despite it.

"But that is not all that I ask of you. I have not mentioned Morgana's name in passing, to make nothing but an example out of her. It is Morgana, with me by her side, who will bring magic back to Camelot.

There is no denying my sister's legitimacy. Her mother, the Lady Vivienne, was of high, noble standing and her father, Uther Pendragon, descends, as I, from a long line of royalty. She brags four years on me, and wisdom of magic that I cannot begin to counter.

So it is in complete faith that I name Morgana my heir, and announce today that I wish to abdicate my place upon the throne in hopes of the betterment of Camelot and the freedom of its people, and pass the crown on to her."

A new uproar began as Morgana joined Arthur on the steps. Arthur, as he had been instructed, took her hand in his so that all gathered could see their newly rediscovered friendship. Morgana smiled as if she wasn't disgusted by the contact, and the protests of the crowd that continued even as the compelled knights tried to quiet them.

Silence fell eventually. As if rehearsed, Arthur lead Morgana to where his throne sat and watched on, with false, smiling patience, as she took a seat and seemed to revel in her victory even as her people watched on in the fear and hatred she has so hypocritically made him speak of.

A crown, Morgana's crown, appeared on a pillow beside it. He lifted it delicately from the velvet with a brief nod at Guinevere, who, it appeared, had been forced to present the crown.

"I name thee, Morgana Pendragon," Arthur said, the crown hovering above her head. The crowd fell silent. "Queen of Camelot."

The protests begun again, but like a fire deprived of the air it needed to burn, it dwindled, drowned and replaced by the knights' and councilmen's loud applause. The cheers spread until they reached the corners of the courtyard that did not yet know of Camelot's new predicament, until it seemed that there was no opposition to the sudden switch in power.

And Morgana rose in front of them, with the fire of victory in her eyes, and it was that flame that burnt any resistance to the ground, and saw the ash blown away in the wind.

* * *

The news was carried all the way to Gedref with the harsher winds, the first indication of the coming winter and approaching snow.

Gwaine told Merlin, and promptly left to beat one of the training dummies a few of the Druid children had had brilliant fun making the day before, for practice in non-magical defense and battle.

And Merlin stood alone on the beach long after the news was bought to him, even when the sun set and the moon cast eerie silver slithers over the unruly waves. Tomorrow, he would journey to Nemhain. He didn't know what he would find there, but he knew for certain that he would not let Camelot fall.

He returned to the manor with a new sense of determination. Glancing over his shoulder, he let his eyes flash gold before returning to his chambers.

* * *

That night, after being forced to suffer through forced festivities in which nearly every cowardly member of his council declared, as loudly as possible, so Morgana would overhear, that they thought he had made a wise decision to pass on the crown, and after the knights had drunk not to him, but to their new Queen, Arthur stood alone at his window.

The fomorroh was gone. It had fulfilled its purpose and, for lack of better description, because Arthur wasn't quite sure what to call it, died. He would probably always have a scar from where the new physician had pulled the fomorroh from his neck, not at all gentle, but careful enough that he was not too harmed in the process, for Morgana wasn't quite done with him and her 'appearances.'

Whether its departure was for better or worse, he didn't know. What he was sure of was that without full control over him, Morgana would use Gwen against him. No matter what Gwen had made him promise, he knew that he could not let her suffer.

Just as he turned to his bed, knowing that he needed to be rested if he was to face the coming weeks, a strange buzzing feeling filled the air. It was magic, he was certain, but it held not the sinister quality of Morgana's power, but a softer, kinder and, dare he say it, familiar essence that was not detrimental, but reassuring. The same magic that had followed him back to Camelot after Emrys' supposed defeat.

His palm burned. Hissing in pain, he uncurled it to find a small roll of parchment. Although he knew the door was locked, he checked Morgana's charm was working before sitting at the table and unrolling it.

_Before the last snowfall passes, Camelot will be returned to its true King. I will not fail you, Arthur. You must have faith._

The words turned to sparks as soon as he had read them, until the entire note evaporated into tiny, beautiful embers, glowing a warm amber. Briefly, they took the shape of a dragon, the same one that decorated the Pendragon crest, before disappearing entirely.

Arthur went to bed with a smile on his face. If Morgana thought she would be met with no resistance, then she could not be more wrong.

* * *

**A/N: **I have to say I won't miss the fomorroh. As fun as it was the write, it couldn't stick around forever.

Feedback much appreciated :)


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

**A Master of Two Servants: **Morgana uses the fomorroh to manipulate Arthur into hunting down and killing Emrys. Little do they know the man they are both searching for is much closer than they think … AU of 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Warnings: **gore and violence. Spoilers up to and for 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.

**Disclaimer: **Merlin is not mine. It belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

A Master of Two Servants

Chapter Twenty-Three

Gilbert informed Merlin, by the time he was deemed fit enough to travel, that they already had over eighty people willing to fight in the safe house alone, over half of them having very strong magic.

Included in their ranks were Gwaine, Gareth and Gale, among a few others who could not use magic. Most, magic or not, were inexperienced in battle, and they had come to the decision that if it was a sword they needed to tackle the knights and not a spell, then they would all needed to be trained in basic, non-magical combat. That task fell to Gwaine and Gareth, fortunately already well trained in both combat and educating others on it.

While he was away on his quest (that was what they had all begun to call it, and Merlin found himself wondering if this was what Arthur felt like whenever his father or some other ridiculously old tradition decided that he should be sent of on another deadly adventure, with quiet mumblings about how if he didn't escape the certain death that awaited him, all of Camelot would be disappointed), they would start their training. What Merlin had told Arthur was true: Camelot would be returned to him by the time winter was over.

On the morning of his departure, having eaten breakfast with his mother, reassured her that he would return and said his goodbyes, Merlin found himself in Gale's chambers, after being informed that Gale wished to see him. While almost recovered, Gilbert and Brangaine had come to an almost-unanimous decision that he would rest for a while longer, at least until his concussion passed and he could use his ankle more freely.

Merlin found him, like he did most of the time that he visited, lounging around by the window, looking out at the choppy sea, and complaining to Brangaine about something or other–usually, it was along the lines of not being able to join the practicing, although on one occasion Merlin had heard him moaning about how much he wanted to make a snowman whenever it did snow, and betting with Brangaine that his father wouldn't let him.

"Ah, Merlin," Gale said, attempting to get up. Brangaine gave him a stern look. With an expression like a scolded puppy, he lowered himself back down into the chair. "Just the man I wanted to see."

"So I'm told. Is everything all right?"

"Peachy. In fact, they are better than peachy," Gale replied. "See, Brangaine and I have been doing some rather intense pondering. Or rather, _Ector had _been doing some rather intense pondering, but then he spawned, and left this particular project, like most of his others, unfinished. Apparently having five children to look after is such a demanding task that research into the possibly apocalyptic powers of an inanimate object becomes a lot less important."

Merlin glanced at Brangaine, who smiled and shrugged. Gale continued obliviously,

"But do not fret, Brangaine and I have dealt with the problem, and come to the conclusion that the price the High Priestess demands might not be as costly as Father, or anyone else, for that matter, is worried it will be."

Gilbert had been alternating between telling Merlin he couldn't go at all, to constantly asking if there was a way he could avoid it. Gaius, Gwaine, Gareth and Hunith had also gone through similar periods of uncertainty and bargaining, both Gwaine and Gareth insisting they would go instead, Gaius searching all seven libraries in the manor for any sort of indication as to what he might face at Nemhain and Hunith subtly (and sometimes unsubtly) expressing her worry. Perhaps Gale and Brangaine's theory, evolved from the old findings of Gilbert's second-born son, would put their minds at rest.

"How so?" Merlin asked.

"Well, the Pool of Nemhain isn't much of a resting place at all, really–at least, not like Avalon is. In fact, it's more of a place for the rest_less_; those trapped and haunted, unable to move on or away," Gale continued. "And since the High Priestess' son, the Mirror-bearer or whatever he's being called these days, is in Avalon instead, we think you might be needing this."

Brangaine held out a golden coin. Taking it from her, he traced his fingers along the carvings in the metal, relishing the symbols of the Old Religion and the way they seemed to hum in time with his own, pulsing magic. It bought on overwhelming sense of calm, so much so that he could have fallen asleep where he stood if Gale didn't say,

"I won't tell you what it does; it'll ruin the surprise. But what I can promise you that, if we're right, you're in for quite the show. And if we're not right, I'll tell you all about what should have happened when you get back."

Merlin slid the coin into his pocket, where it didn't have quite so much of an effect over him. "Thank you, both of you."

Gale shrugged off his gratitude, while Brangaine only smiled humbly.

"And we wanted to wish you luck," Gale added.

"Yes," Brangaine agreed. "Good luck."

Gale grinned brilliantly. "Not that you'll need it. Now I think I can see Kilgharrah out in the fields, and you know what he's like when you keep him waiting, so you best be going."

* * *

Kilgharrah, unsurprisingly, was not impressed to have been kept waiting. After saying hurried goodbyes, Merlin clambered onto the dragon's back and, ignoring his complaints, ordered they take off.

Soon enough, Gedref was nothing more than a small curve of coast below them both, the manor a single speck between the masses of green countryside and white-splashed expanse of sea. The golden beach, visible at low tide and put to good use by a number of Druid children wanting to see the dragon, was nothing but a crescent-moon buried among snaking rocks.

For the first time in days, Merlin felt free, the salty breeze ruffling his hair after twisting through Kilgharrah's wings. Like a sail, they guided the dragon through the sky, up to avoid a flock of migrating birds, down to escape a cluster of thunderclouds. Even Kilgharrah seemed to be enjoying himself, swooping low over a particularly interesting stretch of land, where sparkling lakes lingered around protruding hills. In the distance, a storm was making its way across the land towards them.

Kilgharrah darted upwards suddenly, so they weren't spotted by the small settlement buried among the hills and lakes, then turned sharply to evade the approaching rains. Merlin laughed as they passed incidentally through the outskirts of the storm, the rain soaking through his hair and clothes. When Kilgharrah gave a loud, irritated huff–enough to almost knock the strange-looking bird that had been following them for a few miles out of the sky–Merlin only laughed harder. He could almost hear Arthur's voice in his head, asking haughtily, _having all this fun without me, Merlin? _Sobering briefly, Merlin watched another large forest rush by with relative guilt, before going back to having fun.

They landed in a clearing not far from the Pool of Nemhain. Merlin climbed off Kilgharrah's back and thanked the dragon in their shared tongue before venturing alone towards the pool. He could see Kilgharrah's silhouette swooping away and for a brief moment felt a sudden sense of loneliness, but quickly reminded himself that the dragon had promised to return as soon as the deed, whatever it may be, was done. Fingers brushing over the coin in his pocket, he continued onwards.

The waters of Nemhain were dark, but not the dark of the night sky; rather, the same endless black of a pupil, seeming so deep it had no bottom, and surrounded by the harsh white iris of salt-like sand making up the shore. Venturing into the pool, he found that he could not see his hands below the water, even if they were a mere nail-length away from the surface, which remained still and undisturbed despite him wading through it.

He was almost up to his waist when the eerie silence that hung over the pool was disturbed by a sound similar to that of two swords scraping together. It sent ripples over the surface of the water until a strong tide surrounded him, reaching up to his waist and snaking around his arms. There was a flash of silver, and then the sensation of falling engulfed him in time with the darkness that swept across his vision.

He felt much like he was still on Kilgharrah's back, sweeping through the skies and dancing between the clouds, but it was a far more unsettled flight, one that made him feel more nauseous than free. When, at last, it felt like he had come to a stop, with a vicious jolt that ricocheted right through him, he found that he was in a dark space much like the prison he had found Arthur confided in during the fomorroh's reign of full control. Gale's words echoed through his mind, _it's more of a place for the restless; those trapped and haunted, unable to move on or away._

A fleck of silver appeared among the black, and it came closer and closer, until a familiar figure stood in front of him. The High Priestess he had seen in his visions was watching him with calculating eyes of icy blue, flecks of gold dotted among the pale azure. Her eyes had been all gold before, but otherwise, she looked like she had, skin pale, hair white, and the same sense of power lingered around her. She didn't smile; almost as though he already knew her, Merlin didn't expect her to.

"I am Argante, High Priestess of the Old Religion," she said eventually, with a voice that held the same power, the same persuasion of knowledge, as the glow of her eyes. "Why have you summoned me, Emrys?"

"I am told you know of a way to destroy the Mirror of Deception," Merlin replied, straightening slightly at her use of his Druid name. He had found it strange being called that at the safe house, especially by those who usually knew him simply as Merlin, but now it gave him a sense of power that enabled him confidence in the face of such a mighty figure of the Old Religion.

"So it is knowledge that you seek."

Merlin nodded.

"I have heard whispers," Argante murmured. "Hushed rumors that my Mirror had been sought out again, but I dared not believe them to be true."

"Morgana Pendragon has harnessed the Mirror's power as her own, to take over Camelot," Merlin told her. "I have been told that only I have the power to destroy it."

A ghost of a smile crossed her lips, a far away look stealing away at her pallid eyes. "What you have been told is correct; only you, Emrys, have the power to end the Mirror's existence, and only I know of the spell that will enable you to achieve this. But it will come at a price. I take it you have something for me."

Merlin reached into his pocket, glad to find the coin had not been lost on his strange journey. He held it out to Argante, who regarded it thoughtfully before taking it from him, running her fingers over the carvings as he had when it was first given to him. The small, ghostly smile–the kind one could never be sure was really a smile at all–was back and gone again in instant.

"This will suffice," she spoke almost nonchalantly, but did not look away from the coin, as though transfixed by the runes that decorated its faces. "If the it is the destruction of the Mirror you wish for, then a great many factors come into play. First, of course, is that you must be certain in your ability to complete the spell, and sure in your decision to do so. Do you believe that you are?"

Perhaps a little blindly, Merlin replied with a simple, "Yes."

Argante regarded him with a mild look of inquisition, the coin clutched tightly by her side. "The Mirror has tempted many good men. It possesses a power beyond any of our understanding–a power even those with no previous greed for greatness or supremacy have been tempted to steal for their own."

When Merlin didn't reply, she seemed to take it as an indication to continue.

"It will call to even you, Emrys, and its power is a match for yours despite what the prophets say," Argante went on. "More than just magic is needed for the task. Your judgment must be unclouded. You cannot doubt your decision, cannot have even the smallest want for a taste of the Mirror's power; it must be your full and only intention to destroy it."

"It is."

Argante seemed determined to sway him. "Now, perhaps. But the souls trapped inside of have been twisted over time, and they too crave power and destruction, the kind that can only be achieved with the Mirror in existence. They have long since turned to madness, to an unwavering desperation, that will imprint itself on you along with their suffering, until you are uncertain that what you intend to do is just and right. Even now, I still hear them calling to me, singing for destiny and doom. It is a heavy burden to carry, Emrys, one I doubt will leave you even if the Mirror is destroyed. You would do well not to lose yourself to it."

Merlin remained quiet, not sure if he could promise, for the second time that very week, that he could pay whatever price was necessary, but knowing full well that when it came to it, he would.

"Morgana will soon know their madness," Argante promised. "She would have already witnessed the war that ruined them."

_It was not the war that ruined them; it was you, and your need for vengeance_, Merlin wanted to say. After all, they would not be so bitter had Argante not blamed them for what happened and sought to punish them as she had. But he sensed that she would not be so cooperative if he spoke of what he really thought, and so kept quiet.

"But if you are determined that you not only have the power, but the sanity, to complete the spell, then we shall move on to what it will involve, instead of dwelling yet on what it will do."

"I think that is wise," Merlin said, with a small and forced smile.

Argante, looking somewhat irked, said, "Very well. In order for the spell to work, you must shatter the Mirror's glass, for that is where is power lies. It may sound like a simple task, but none have succeeded in doing so before. It is unbreakable without the spell."

"And when it's broken?"

"You must force the magic within it back into the earth," Argante answered. "And order the souls to move on also. Then, and only then, will its power be banished and forevermore inaccessible to anyone who may wish to possess it."

It sounded, without the lingering threat of madness, simple enough, but perhaps that was him being overconfident, a trait, he knew, suited no one, especially not him. "The souls taken in order for the Mirror's power to be claimed, what will happen to them?"

"They too will be set free with the breaking of the Mirror, but there is a way to do this without completing the spell. I am told you are in possession of a sword forged in a dragons' breath?"

"I am."

"Then you already have the power to free them, and weaken Morgana." Argante looked neither pleased nor dismayed by this, but if Merlin had to choose, he would be inclined slightly towards the former. Or perhaps she was simply impressed–a sword like Excalibur was notoriously hard to come by, especially with only two dragons remaining, and most people believing them both dead. "Such a sword can banish the magic that both turns their loyalties to the Mirror-bearer and keeps their souls from returning to their bodies, without causing them much harm. Not only that, but it will weaken Morgana's control over the Mirror's power. Only slightly, however, and it will not be enough to defeat her completely."

"What if we returned all of the souls?"

"As I said, it would serve only to weaken her slightly. The deed is already done; the Mirror answers to Morgana, and can no longer be controlled by anything other than your spell. I did not anticipate anyone freeing the Mirror's magic, nor having to restrict that magic again if it was accessed, and so I did not enchant the crystals to serve their purpose more than once."

"Is there any other way to… weaken Morgana, before the spell is cast?" Merlin asked hesitantly.

"So you do doubt your powers, Emrys." This time, he was sure Argante did looked impressed and somewhat pleased to have gotten some indication of his uncertainty. "Well, I do expect that you will need to do all that you can to weaken her if you are to get to the Mirror at all. She is a match for you now, Emrys."

Merlin struggled for a reply. Argante smirked in a way that reminded him of Morgana, with the same mixture of contempt and smugness, before admitting, more seriously, "I will tell you, for I do not wish for Camelot to suffer the same fate as my own kingdom. Where is the center point of Camelot?"

"The Throne Room."

"She will be most powerful there," Argante said. "Again, it will not have a significant affect over her, but she will be weaker away from this focal point. But you must beware, if you were to lead her completely from the city, she will not have such a wide focus, meaning she can better channel her power. It would be wise not to challenge her then."

Merlin nodded, trying to take every detail in.

"Contact with the Mirror also gives her more power over it," Argante added. "But it is hers now, no matter where it or she is. The only way to defeat her is to destroy the Mirror completely. Like her immortal army, it sustains her. She is indestructible until it is destroyed; no weapon, save for your dragon blade, can harm her. And even that, with the healing powers of the Mirror, will do little damage."

"Then what is the spell?"

Argante smiled and held out the hand that did not hold the coin. "Take my hand, Emrys."

Hesitantly, he put his hand in hers.

"Close your eyes. You must trust in me," she whispered.

Hoping he was not wrongly placing his trust, Merlin did as she said, closing his eyes only to find not the darkness he expected, but a blurred image of something he could not quite make out. Although he could see very little, he could feel the familiar sparkle of magic in the air, turning in circles with the hissing winds of winter. A shiver ran through him. Melting in his hair was snow.

Argante's voice sounded through the haze, hushed and musical, reciting words of the Old Religion. The image was still blurred, but he thought he could make out Camelot's courtyard and Mirror lying on the cobblestones in front of him. His hands, distorted by the obscurity of the vision, hovered above it and his voice, whispering the same spell, sounded in time with Argante's.

There was a tug at his hand and he was jerked from the vision. Blinking his eyes open, he found Argante still smiling, properly this time. The words of the spell were, for a dizzying moment, all that he remembered, but quickly his senses returned, the enchantment stored away to memory.

Argante's hand fell from his and he felt his magic settle within him.

"You must practice the spell until the image becomes clear," Argante told him. "You must be able to see though the haze, and see and _sense_ the Mirror breaking, before you cast the spell properly."

Shell-shocked, Merlin could only manage a small nod.

"Have you all that you came for, Emrys?" she asked.

"Yes," Merlin murmured, still a little dazed.

The smile grew. "Then I will put your gift to good use."

Gathering his wits, he said earnestly, "Thank you."

"Thank _you_, Emrys," she replied, a sudden look of liberty appearing in her eyes. "You have given me the means to rest happily with my son."

Before Merlin got the chance to tell her that he wasn't the one she should thank for the gift, that it was his friends who had provided him with her payment, there was an eruption of gold, and everything faded.

For the briefest of moments, he glimpsed the inside of Avalon, below the pristine waters. He saw purity and peace, but no more, he knew, than a living mortal should, for it was almost all sheltered from him. Still, it was beautiful, even more beautiful than he imagined.

Before the image disappeared, Merlin thought he saw Argante embrace her son. They were reunited, finally.

When he returned to the mortal word, he was aware of the harsh sand of Nemhain's shores against his back and the water nudging his boots. With a groan, he dragged himself further up the beach and waited for the nausea of his exit from the pool to fade. He pulled himself to his feet as soon as it had passed, brushed the scratching sand from his skin and clothes, and trudged to the clearing when Kilgharrah had first landed.

The dragon was already there and, after allowing Merlin to climb onto its back, carried him to exactly where his Dragonlord had asked.

The sword in the stone.

* * *

**A/N: **Argante is a figure from Arthurian legend, metioned only once or twice as the Queen of Avalon, who would supposedly heal Arthur of her wounds. The name seemed kind of fitting. That, and I'm starting to run out of names from the legend that I can use... especially female names, there's seems to be hardly any of them.

Watch out for Ector in the next couple of chapters, by the way!

Feedback much appreciated :)


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